


Puzzle Pieces

by starsandsupernovae



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Bisexual Derek Morgan, Hurt Derek Morgan, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Spencer's figuring it out, Stalker, eventually, how do i tag without giving spoilers, neurodivergent Spencer Reid, this is a Moreid fic yall know the drill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24756853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsupernovae/pseuds/starsandsupernovae
Summary: But Morgan was different, when Morgan was kind to him it was softer somehow, and Spencer found himself caring differently about him.But god, when Reid went off on one of his interests, on a little tidbit of information that fascinated him, Derek would listen to him forever if he could. Sometimes just to see his eyes light up and his entire body animate, straighten up while he gestured, making his point.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Comments: 75
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my first work in the criminal minds fandom! I'm so excited for this and only a tiny bit terrified. A couple notes: This takes place around season three, so it's early on here. I didn't necessarily keep all the technology consistent in terms of how it was back then, but I think most of it is. I should be updating weekly  
> Enjoy!

Until the email, the day had been boring. Paperwork days generally were and Spencer had just finished the file he was working on when he decided to give his mind a break and check his mail. It would almost definitely empty but Hotch was always on them about keeping up with their work emails. And he never knew when there would be some idiosyncratic email about workplace habits. So, Spencer lifted his pen from the paper, absentmindedly chewing on the end. There was a workplace email, this one about parking spaces. He made to delete it, it was irrelevant to him when he noticed that there was another unopened message, this one with no subject line, from an address he didn’t recognize, just a series of letters and numbers.  
Curious, he opened it, and read the message within. Two words, short and simple.

**Hello Doctor**

Spencer read it over, looking at the address, trying to discern some pattern. It was a practical joke probably, some riddle. He was so intent on the message he barely noticed how the pressure he was now exerting on the pen until it happened. It split open, ink spurting out. Spencer jerked it out quickly, shoving it into the can beneath his desk, but the deep blue ink was still spreading insidiously across the fabric of his shirt, staining it just as, Spencer realized in horror, it was probably staining his face. Sinking lower in his chair, he glanced around as surreptitiously as he could. He wasn’t too far from the bathroom and his mind worked furiously, trying to figure out exactly how he could get there without being seen. What he’d do once he was there, after washing his face and left with his dirty clothing was to be dealt with then. Damnit he was never going to chew another pen ever again. He looked around again. Prentiss was sitting at her desk and she was actually engaged in her work, she wouldn’t see him. Hotch was in his office, and there was no reason to believe he would come out in the time it took him to get there. And Morgan was…

Morgan wasn’t at his desk. Of course, Morgan would be the one wrench in the works, the hole in his plot. What else was new?

Spencer would like to wait until he had figured it all out, until he knew exactly what to do but the longer he stayed at his desk the greater his chances of getting caught grew. It was incredible that no one had yet. He stood carefully, angling himself away from the others as much as he could. His shirt stuck to him, unpleasantly damp and sticky, causing his skin to crawl and he needed it off. Now. He needed it clean, he needed the sensation to be gone.  
He was almost to the bathroom, the one all the way down the hall, a bit riskier, but there was less chance he’d be seen there. The risk seemed worth it until he was halfway there, when he saw the unmistakable form of Derek Morgan walking towards him. His mind took in Morgan’s pace, compared it to his own, factored in the distance to the washroom and knew he wouldn’t make it.

He had to try but of course, before he had the chance to enter

“Reid?” Morgan asked and Spencer forced himself to face him.

“Damn, kid, what happened to you?” Morgan said, taking in the ink stains.

“Nothing.” Spencer said shortly. “I’m, uh, just going to clean myself up.” 

“Oh, I see. I warned you about this, you know.” Morgan was grinning now; a look made all the more infuriating by how good he looked like this. 

“Actually, no, you didn’t.” Spencer looked away from Morgan’s gaze and his hand automatically went to push up his glasses before realizing he had ink all over his fingers too. 

“You told me that if I kept it up the pen would explode. In actuality it was more like the pen imploded, caving in on itself although the ink did then drip out. However, I wouldn’t call that an explosion as such.”

Morgan waited till Spencer was done, that same stupid grin still firmly on his face. 

“Yeah? Okay, and what’s your plan for dealing with this pen implosion, genius?”

“I just told you. I’m going to go clean myself off.” Spencer needed to be gone. He was already humiliated beyond belief, and the shirt sticking to his chest felt like someone was scraping their nails down his skin from the inside. 

“That’s not just going to wipe off, kid.” Morgan gave Spencer another once over. “That shirt’s gone. You might want to get some clothes from your go bag.”

“Thanks.” Spencer’s fingers twisted together, spreading ink across his hands as he waited for Morgan to just go. “I don’t have it here today. But thanks.” 

It was stupid, him not having his bag with him today. But they weren’t supposed to be going anywhere and Spencer just hadn’t brought it. 

“Alright, come here.” Morgan pushed the door open to the bathroom, and Spencer followed surprised.

Sure enough, the stalls were empty and they were alone by the sinks where Morgan put down the box of files he was holding and started to undress. Or at least, taking off the hoodie he was wearing over a deep red Henley. 

“Clean up your face and take this.” Morgan placed the sweater down on the counter that ran along the sinks. 

“That’s, uh, that’s really unnecessary.” Spencer said although truth was, he was already looking forward to wearing something that didn’t make him want to scream. 

“Like hell it is. Even on a paperwork day, can’t have our resident genius kid going around like that.” Morgan said, picking his files back up. 

“Don’t think I don’t want it back in prime condition, though.” Morgan paused in the doorway looking over at Spencer again. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll send in some reinforcements for the face.”

“What?” Spencer asked as Morgan left, flipping open his cell phone. “Wait, what does reinforcements mean?”

He opened the door to call after him

“Who are reinforcements?”

Morgan, already talking to someone on his phone merely waved, continuing on his way back.

Reinforcements turned out to be one Penelope Garcia, armed with an absolutely foul-smelling face soup. While, after twenty minutes of trying to get the stubborn stains out his skin Spencer was grateful for the help, he still had some protests. 

“Garcia, you can’t come in here! This is a men’s room.”

“Don’t worry. It’s out of order.”

“What, no it’s not.”

Spencer stopped as Garcia pulled the door in again to show the handwritten ‘out of order’ sign. Written in purple sharpie on a sheet of crumpled paper it wasn’t hard to see where it had come from. 

“Still, Garcia, I’m…” Spencer gestured to himself, his wet shirt now blessedly off but now here he stood with his blue stained torso as well as hands and face. He hadn’t wanted to risk staining Morgan’s hoodie as well, even if it was all pretty dry now.

“Oh, he’s shy!” Garcia crowed, putting down her soap. “Don’t worry, while you are undoubtedly gorgeous, Dr. Reid, my heart belongs to another. And you won’t get all of that off without this bad boy.” 

She tapped the small bottle she’d brought with her confidently.

“How do you know that’ll work?” Spencer asked.

“Oh honey, I’ve experimented with more face and body paints, pens, and glitters then even your genius brain can contemplate. Trust me, this’ll work.”

Spencer tried it gingerly, applying a bit onto his hands and watched in amazement as it began to lift the ink away.

“You can use more then that, you know.” Garcia took the bottle from him and poured a generous amount over his hands. “Morgan told me it was probably pretty stubborn.”

Spencer paused.

“He did?”

“Yeah, he said you use some kind of special pens. Said you should focus on getting some reinforced ones instead.” She laughed. “Well, now that I’ve come to work my wonders, I’ve got to go back to my digital castle.”

“Thank you so much, Garcia.” Spencer said.

“Of course. That’s what benevolent goddesses are for.” She answered. “Keep the bottle, it looks like you need it.” 

And with that she was gone, leaving Spencer feeling a lot calmer now that he had it under control with a firm plan to get himself cleaned up. It only took a few more minutes until his face was clear and his fingers just had a mere tint of blue, although  
beneath the nails was harder, they bore the appearance of faded polish. Still he was presentable and the whole fiasco had taken thirty minutes out of his day he had no plans of letting it take more. He folded his shirt and cardigan carefully despite their ruin and pulled Morgan’s hoodie on apprehensively.

He hadn’t expected it to be that soft.

Normally Spencer balked at clothing that didn’t fit properly, they felt wrong. But this was so soft and it enveloped him in its dry warmth and comfort. He could almost feel himself relaxing under the weight. It was an unfamiliar garment and Spencer knew he would never find himself wearing it regularly like Morgan did but he had to admit that for now at least it was nice. Really nice. The fact that it smelled like Morgan, that it was Morgan’s sweater given to him was unimportant he told himself. It was just soft and he appreciated soft textures. The extra weight supplied a relaxing element. It made sense. 

He returned to his cubicle self-conscious but clean and dry. Prentiss was talking to JJ at her desk and he saw their eyebrows rise as he walked past.

“Hey there, Spence.” JJ said. “Interesting fashion choice today.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Morgan chimed in from his desk and Spencer could feel his cheeks heating up. He had hoped to avoid any such scene when he returned.

“I think it’s a great sweater.” Morgan continued. “Don’t worry about them, pretty boy, they’re just jealous.”

Prentiss looked between the two of them, putting it together.

“You’re wearing Morgan’s sweater now, Reid?”

“I spilled ink on mine.” Spencer said, sliding into his seat.

“Spilled ink? I thought the proper term was, hmmm, oh yeah, ‘imploded’ a pen.” Morgan said and Spencer could have killed him. 

But looking over at Morgan he realized as he always did that there was nothing malevolent in the other’s smile. Infuriating though it was, he knew Morgan was trying to laugh with him, defuse the situation. Spencer managed a small tight smile and he probably imagined that Morgan’s smile grew as a result. 

“That’s strange.” Hotch’s voice cut through Spencer’s thoughts. “I thought we had case files we were working on today; I didn’t realize that questioning Reid’s clothing came first.” 

There were general apologetic murmurs as everyone returned to their work. Spencer gave Hotch a relieved smile

“Thanks.”

Hotch nodded in return before calling JJ into his office. 

Spencer’s screen was dark once he returned to it and deciding with his lost time the riddle should really be saved for later, he returned to work. There were some initial difficulties, the sleeves falling down to his fingertips but after rolling them back he was back to work, focusing his mind there, trying to keep it from wandering. 

That was the thing about Spencer’s mind. It was wonderful and genius and all else but it also never seemed to behave. Sure, he could read through books in minutes and focus his attention on learning a subject for hours without pause but when something didn’t hold his attention it was like his mind was a stubborn child, refusing to play nice. Paperwork shouldn’t take this long for him, but the simple fact was that Spencer just couldn’t bring himself to fly through it as he should. Luckily, no one else seemed to be aware of this fault and Spencer was just relieved when, at the end of the day, he had met his goal and was able to leave without the extra work looming over his head.  
Normally he would have stayed later, perhaps gotten ahead of some other work, it really was never ending, and he knew that if he did other files would drop onto his desk, and he generally didn’t mind much. But it had been a tiring week and tonight would be his first chance to get some proper sleep. So, he found himself walking to the elevators with Morgan who had definitely been the cause of at least one extra file in Spencer’s pile.

“Thanks again for the sweater.” Spencer said, as they stepped into the elevator. 

“No problem.” Morgan said and Spencer could feel his gaze linger at where Spencer had rolled up the sleeves.  
Spencer pulled them down, but he wasn’t sure that helped, now that only his fingers peeked out. He expected Morgan to laugh at him but when he looked back up Morgan was looking down at his phone, apparently preoccupied with a text.  
Spencer wasn’t sure why he didn’t feel relieved by this. He pulled another pen from his bag absentmindedly, twisting it through his blue tinted fingers. The ride down seemed to take an age although Spencer knew it was in fact only 47 seconds and therefore definitely shouldn’t feel as long as it did. As they split ways, Morgan to his car and Spencer heading to the train Morgan said

“Night, kid. Don’t forget your go bag tomorrow.”

“I won’t.” said Spencer heatedly. “Goodnight.” 

Spencer hadn’t intended to keep the sweater on once he got home. It wasn’t his after all and it seemed wrong somehow, to keep wearing Morgan’s clothing when he didn’t need to. And yet he found himself keeping it on even after he got home, as he prepared his bag for the next day, as he wrote his letter to his mother, and as he curled up on his couch and switched on the tv, watching some star trek re runs, paying it half a mind while his mind wandered, as it did to one Derek Morgan.  
It was hard sometimes working with a man like Morgan. It wasn’t just that he was strong, it wasn’t just that he was quick and smart, it wasn’t just that he was quite attractive (Spencer could say that objectively, it didn’t have to mean that Spencer himself was attracted to him, no, it was just an observation). It was that he was all of this and he was kind. Spencer had kind people in his life of course, everyone on the team was kind to him. But Morgan was different, when Morgan was kind to him it was softer somehow, and Spencer found himself caring differently about him. 

Morgan was like that to people in general, Spencer had noticed. It could be easy to mischaracterize Morgan if you knew him from his work chasing and intimidating unsubs, if all you saw was how he dealt with those who had lost all right to kindness. But if you watched Morgan in the other times, when he was just talking to his friends, or his family, or just people, you would start noticing that despite his work he wasn’t a violent or angry man. He was a kind man.  
Spencer pulled his thoughts away from Morgan. He shouldn’t be sitting here thinking about him like this. He wasn’t sure why he shouldn’t exactly, but he knew that something about it was wrong. Maybe it was profiling. That was why he didn’t want to think like that, he decided. He had promised not to profile his coworkers. 

A thought from the back of his mind pointed out that this wasn’t really profiling Morgan he was just noticing him. He pushed down on that thought and turned his attention back to the screen. He was too tired for this.

Spencer definitely hadn’t intended to keep the sweater on all night. But when his alarm woke him the next morning, sunlight streaming through the small window into his eyes, he realized he hadn’t bothered to change into pajamas before bed.  
Fine, so he had fallen asleep in his clothing. He did that more often then he’d care to admit, falling asleep on the couch until he moved himself, only half conscious to the bed, not bothering to change in his hurry to accept the warmth of his blankets. But this was too soft to be his shirt, and it felt wrong, there was too much of it…

Spencer’s eyes snapped open as he realized, the sudden brightness blinding him, causing him to stumble as he got out of bed, catching himself on the side of his closet, blinking as he regained his sight and finding himself in the mirror. He had indeed neglected to change last night. And he was not wearing his shirt. He stared at himself, hair rumpled, eyes still watering slightly, in Morgan’s sweater. 

He didn’t have time to deal with this now. He showered and changed quickly, carefully putting the hoodie aside and making sure his bag was in place ready to go before grabbing a granola bar for breakfast and heading out.

He got there early as normal and breathed a sigh of relief as he was able to settle in before the briefing began. JJ dropped the files on the desk and he perused them as she began talking. 

“Karen Hunt, Tara Mays, Philippa Leighly, and as of yesterday, Ann Osborne. They’ve all gone missing in the past six months. The first three are all young women from the same small town who attended the same college, Griffin University. Both Hunt and Mays have been found, their bodies dumped and buried in the woods about thirty miles away.”

“Lots of woods around there.” Morgan commented, looking at the maps and Spencer forced his eyes there as well.

“It’s a popular hiking location in the spring.” JJ said. “It was actually a hiker’s dog who found the bodies.”

Spencer looked over the ME reports.

“They were killed months apart, but buried in the same place?”

“Yes. As far as we can tell Hunt was taken late December, Mays late February, and Leighly late March, only two weeks ago. Hunt and May’s deaths are placed at around the time the next girl was taken.” 

“So, he’s speeding up. Drastically.” Rossi said. 

“But Osborne doesn’t fit the profile here.” Spencer had finished his reading and placed the folder down.

“She’s in her forties, she’s a brunette and she’s only 5’2. The others are all young tall blondes.”

JJ nodded. 

“This is why we’ve been called in now. Osborne isn’t like the others. Ann Osborne is the officer in charge of this investigation.”

There was a pause as the team took the new information in. Hotch broke it up a moment later.

“Wheels up in thirty.” 

When they arrived at the police station the place was surprisingly calm. JJ lead the team into the station, looking around until they were approached by a man in uniform with a harried look.

“Officer Johnston? I’m-“

“Agent Jareau? Thank God. Come this way.”

Unfazed JJ continued on behind him and they followed, looking around at the station. There weren’t many officers and those present all stared at the team curiously. Spencer avoided their gaze, playing with the strap of his bag.  
Johnston led them into a small office where another man was on the phone.

“I can keep it down, okay?” He looked at them and made an apologetic ‘one moment’ motion. “Look, the FBI is here, I’ll call you back.”

He set the phone down with his left hand, reaching the other out for a handshake.

“Henry Strikland. I’m the chief around here. Sorry about that, the mayors on my ass about this.”

“I’m sure Officer Osborne’s disappearance has been very stressful to the town.” JJ said.

“Well, yes of course. But the mayor isn’t happy I brought you in on this to tell you the truth.” 

“Why’s that?” Hotch asked. 

“This is town exists because of the University students.” Strikland looked uncomfortable. 

“We’ve found it to be advisable to keep the investigation more discreet, didn’t want to cause panic among the student body.”

Spencer listened, while he reviewed the maps, he’d seen earlier in his minds eye. There was something off about the hiking trails marked on them, something that seemed off. He followed as they were given a room to set up in and pretty much left alone with Johnston who seemed to be the officer most familiar with the case now that Osborne was gone.

“Alright.” Hotch said at last. “JJ and Rossi, I want you here, Prentiss, you and I will go to Osborne’s house, see what you can gather. Morgan, you and Reid can go to the university, start asking questions. We want to know everything about these girls, and who could’ve gotten near them. I want to deliver a profile tomorrow morning.”

They had figured out quite a bit on the plane but going into the field would be the only way to gather the details necessary to properly fill it out. 

Spencer started a little, hiding the movement quickly by standing and following Morgan out the door. It was fine, he was fine. He could work with Morgan like normal, just put last night out of his mind. 

“Hey, pretty boy, you alright?” Morgan asked several minutes into the drive and Spencer turned to look at him properly for the first time in the day.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

“You’ve been pretty quiet today. Normally you’re running my ear off with facts.” 

“Just been thinking.” 

“Thinking about anything in specific?” Morgan asked and Spencer could feel his heartrate increase. 

“The maps we’ve been looking at. They’re inconsistent.” Spencer could keep it on the case. This was professional. 

“How?”

“The hiking paths. The popular ones didn’t lead to the burial site.”

“Yeah, but there was a path near there.”

“There was….on one map.” Spencer was getting a hold on what it was that was bothering him. “That path is just a little different on each map. Inconsistencies on hiking maps aren’t too uncommon, when you consider how hiking trails are measured and mapped but they shouldn’t all be this different. If it was rerouted due to some natural event there would only be two different trails, or if it was a measurement issue, they’d still have the same general shape but this one doesn’t.”

“Alright.” Morgan considered it a moment. “That is weird. We can ask about it when we get back.”

“You know, it’s interesting how inaccurate hiking maps can be.” Spencer continued. “It really depends if you’re measuring the distance digitally or with a calibrated wheel. You know, they used to use 100-foot metal tapes to figure out hiking distance, but of course this led to problems with incline and with the metal tape itself.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Morgan smiled as they pulled up to their destination. “Come on, whiz kid. Let’s go to school.”

He got out of the car and Spencer made to follow when his phone vibrated. 

Spencer took it out and frowned when he saw the display, a text from an unknown number. Gingerly, he tapped to open it. The message appeared on his screen instantly.

**Unknown Number: Doctor, why don’t you answer me?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case is solved, another mysterious message arrives (this time with a gift!) and Morgan spends the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 2! Thank you so much to everyone who read and kudosed and a huge thank you to all those who commented. I wanted to clarify before continuing that while Reid himself doesn't have a diagnosis I'm writing him as ADHD although some symptoms will invariably overlap with other conditions.

Later, Spencer would return to this moment, would kick himself for not just telling someone right there and then. For not going straight to Garcia and figuring the whole thing out. He would curse his inaction and a small terrible part of him would wonder if it was his fault he was in this situation, if they had more time, would they have been able to prevent the whole thing. But now, Spencer was blissfully unaware of what the future would bring and as soon as they got out of the van they were met by the dean, after which they had to question students after which they had to go through the statements, after which there was something else. 

With an officer missing there really wasn’t time to bring up a strange text message. Spencer mentioned something to Garcia about tracing a number but she didn’t have time to ask him to elaborate before she was drafted to do some casework. So, Spencer put it out of his mind, thinking it was still pretty unimportant and turned to the case.

“And Reid noticed something about the maps.” Morgan was saying.

“Yeah,” Spencer stood up “If you’ll look, you’ll see that there are regular hiking trails and those are all the same. But then a few of them have additional trails that are unique to them and even if they have a corresponding trail on another map, they differ by just a little bit on the map but

“In actuality, the little difference would be really substantial in the woods.” Prentiss finished and Spencer nodded.

“Exactly. And only one of the maps’ trails leads close to the dumpsite.”

“That’s not a tourist map,” Johnston spoke up. “The extra trails on there were designed by locals, casual hikers generally can’t handle them. Hell, most people around here couldn’t handle it.”

“But the hiker who found the bodies, he wasn’t local was he?” Hotch asked.

“Yeah, I guess someone from around here must’ve told him about it. You don’t think he’s under suspicion, do you? We cleared him easily.”

“No, he’s not our unsub,” Hotch said. “But we need to know who gave him the map. Let’s see if we can bring him back.”

Johnston nodded and left the room. 

“But why would the unsub lead us to the bodies?” Morgan asked. “If he wants people to know about him, why take the one woman actually investigating him?”

“She was giving up.” Rossi spoke from the corner of the room, putting down a file.  
“Her work was slowing down; she was considering closing the case. She was under pressure to keep things quiet and she wasn’t finding anything new.”

“So, he blames her for not publicizing him? But look at the victims, this doesn’t seem like someone who’s doing this for the fame, it doesn’t fit.” Morgan countered.

“Yes, look at the victims.” Rossi said. “They weren’t just dumped, they were buried. Hands folded over their chests. He cared about these women, he felt remorse for killing them.”

“He doesn’t just want to be known.” Spencer said slowly, seeing how it fit together, feeling the spark of excitement as previously disregarded fragments combined to form the facts. “He wants to be caught.”

“I think we’re ready for the profile.” Hotch said. 

Once the hiker had given them a rough description of who had given him a more comprehensive map and they had set up a tip line it didn’t take long for one name to keep popping up. Once Garcia had found his prior assault conviction, his ex-wife who fit his victimology it took even less time for them to apprehend him. He was found at home, alone. 

“We don’t have much in the way of physical evidence.” Prentiss stood, arms folded, staring through the interrogation window. 

Spencer nodded, watching their suspect sit, and then pace, and then sit down again. 

“Alright, let’s go.” Rossi said and lead Morgan out. They reappeared a moment later on the other side of the glass, Rossi pulling a chair out on the other side of the table and sitting, Morgan standing behind him. 

It had been seconds, but Morgan’s transformation was remarkable. Spencer listened to Rossi’s interrogation but his eyes were on Morgan as he walked around the room, apparently nonchalantly. The gentle, kind man had been left outside the door and   
the agent who was standing in his place radiated intimidation. It almost scared Spencer sometimes, how Morgan was able to switch. 

“There’s a place in the woods.” The suspect said eventually and Spencer put down his notes and exchanged a look with Prentiss, realizing as he did that his pen had ended up in his mouth again. Damn it he really had to stop this. 

Morgan left the room a few minutes later, marked map in hand and Prentiss and Spencer left to meet him. With the help of local officers, the ‘place in the woods’, a small cabin nestled within a small clearing was found. It seemed dead, completely abandoned until they reached the back room.

The woman Spencer recognized from her photo as Osborne had been hurt badly, lying limp on the floor, chest rising and falling shallowly. Another woman, Phillipa Leighly, appeared to be unharmed, gagged and tied to the bed. She was oddly quiet, even while being freed, and it was only until she was brought outside, medics swarming the place until she began to cry, loud gasping sobs. Spencer stepped away as the women were taken care of. He always felt strange in moments like these.  
Relieved, of course, hugely relieved. But when he worked cases, he was always able to work on them by compartmentalizing. He broke the case down to pieces, facts and figures, and put them together. Seeing the victims in person, coming face to face with the real human victims of the cases brought reality in, shattering the compartments he had designed to hold the emotional factors at bay. The result was overwhelming.   
Spencer twisted his hands together and rolled his neck slightly as he tried to temper the urge to run his fingers down the sides of his face and interlock them tightly behind his neck. He was aware of how strange he looked when he was at home and let himself be as he liked, when he sat cross-legged, head down, hunched slightly as he rocked gently back and forth. It was weird he knew, but comforting and it was hard keeping himself as normal as he did all day, so very hard and he was already considered strange. He saw the way people looked at him as his leg bounced beneath his desk all day, or as he kept fidgeting with a pencil in his hands. He didn’t want to think of how they’d look at him if they saw him hunched up and holding tightly to himself, head almost tucked into his chest. 

So, he let his fingers twitch and tumble over each other and nothing more.

The flight back was lighter, the team satisfied with a job well done. Most the team was dozing off and when Spencer looked up from his card game with JJ, he realized they were the only ones up. A profiler could tell a lot by the way a person sleeps and despite their promise not to profile others on the team some things were just instinctual.

Hotch was still sitting mostly upright, eyes shut but he seemed poised to wake up at any moment. Rossi was more relaxed, having let himself fall back and sprawl over the seat while Prentiss had become smaller somehow, drawing herself in to sleep.

“There. What do you have for that?” JJ lay down her cards. 

Spencer only waited a moment before setting down his own, and drawing the makeshift chips towards him.

“Damnit. I’m out. For good this time.” JJ said, as she did at least once a month.

“Alright.” Spencer said, easily. The first few times he had believed her, tried to convince her to keep playing, even threw a few rounds. But now they had settled into a routine and JJ occasionally quitting was just another part of it. 

JJ started to gather in the cards while Spencer’s eyes slid to the final member of the team. Morgan had dozed off leaning against the window and he looked peaceful, the stress of the day wiped away in that moment. Spencer was all too aware of the tension Morgan carried with him to each case and now, seeing him without it, oblivious to any observation, it made Spencer a little calmer himself, a little happier. Not that he should be staring at his sleeping coworker he realized. That was creepy. 

But before he looked away, the plane hit a spot of turbulence and Morgan’s eyes opened, meeting his own for a moment before Spencer looked down, feeling his face flush. Despite the heat he felt on his face it seemed no one else noticed. Spencer risked another glance at Morgan who was dozing back off. 

He hadn’t even noticed him. This was a good thing. It was, and Spencer had to repeat it to himself to cover up the confusion of the slight disappointment he felt. 

“JJ?” He asked, taking the pile of cards from her.

“Yeah?” 

“How do you know, if, you know…” Spencer trailed off, looking down at the cards he held, sorting them by suit. His hands moved quickly as he spoke.  
“If you really like someone? Romantically, I mean. Possibly sexually.” Spencer stopped again, wondering if he had gone too far. 

“Spencer, is there someone you like?” JJ looked at him in what seemed to be delight and Spencer tried to backpedal quickly.

“No, I just wanted to know. Hypothetically, I mean.” 

She looked unconvinced so he added.

“Everyone else seems to know. I’d just like to as well.”

JJ thought for a moment, and Spencer thought he saw her gaze travel to where Emily was curled for a moment.

“I guess, you know you like someone when you enjoy spending time with them more than others. Maybe you feel better when they’re around, maybe they make you feel better about yourself. I suppose I’m not really sure how to explain it.” JJ answered

Spencer nodded, thoughtfully. 

“And Spence, you know you can talk to me about it if there is someone, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Spencer remembered himself, giving her a smile, until she had relaxed enough to leave the topic. 

He sat back, now organizing the cards by number within their suit. To make sure they were all there he would say if anyone asked but really just because it was something to do. It took him moments until he was slipping the final card in place. The king of hearts. 

How ironic. 

It was only once he got home late at night, he remembered about the text. There hadn’t been another one and he decided to push investigation until tomorrow and go to sleep. He went through his night time routine and was about to go to bed when he decided to check his email. He was expecting something from the college he’d be lecturing at anyway. When he logged on there was indeed an email from the college, confirming his lecture later in the week, but there was also another one, from the same strange address, the combination of letters and numbers. 

Spencer clicked on it, curious. This one had come just about an hour ago, but there was nothing in between this and the last one. Why would they switch to text, only to switch back? The questions quickly shifted to worry when he opened and read the message.

**Welcome back doctor. You did so well with your case, figuring out those maps. I saw you come home, it’s time to answer me. You look tired so I will wait until tomorrow if I must. Did you get my gift? It’s on the table.**

His gift? Spencer suddenly realized he hadn’t been into his small kitchen since he had walked in. Forcing himself to take deep breaths he walked over, relieved when he saw the small room illuminated by light from the hall and windows and it seemed empty. Of course. He switched on the light anyways and realized his mistake. There was something on the table, something small, he hadn’t noticed before. A single dry rose lying across a small flat black box. That had definitely not been there before

He backed out of the room and began pacing through his apartment, feeling his pulse speed and his hands begin to shake. He stopped in his bedroom, trying to sit on the bed and calm himself down. There didn’t really seem to be immediate danger, but his anxiety was spiking. He got up again, unable to sit still when he caught sight of Morgan’s sweater, carefully folded. 

He remembered the softness of the material against his skin, the comforting weight on his shoulders. It was probably wrong to put it on now. It was probably strange to try wearing Morgan’s sweater to help him calm down. But at this point Spencer couldn’t bring himself to care. 

It enveloped him, much too big, but it let Spencer breathe, consider his next move. He made his way to the couch, curling himself tightly in on himself and dialed JJ’s number. 

No answer.

Spencer held the phone tightly in his hand while the other one found the back of his head and he pulled himself inwards. He wasn’t just nervous he realized; he was scared. Scared and didn’t know who to call. The police perhaps but he was all too aware of their limitations, he had no present threat to his danger, not really. The police wouldn’t be able to do anything. Not until something was done to him. It was a moment until another thought struck him and he dialed another number. 

This time it was answered after only two rings

“Hello? Reid?” Morgan’s voice sounded groggy and Spencer would feel guilty for waking him in a moment but now all he felt was a wave of relief at the sound of his voice.

“Morgan? I know it’s late. I just got these weird messages.” Spencer said.

“Weird messages. Kid, do you know what time it is?” Morgan asked.

“Not just weird messages.” Spencer felt stupid, it was too late to bother Morgan about this.

“I think whoever sent them is watching me.” He was being paranoid, he shouldn’t have called

“The last message talked about a gift and a flower was left in my apartment.” This was ridiculous, maybe he should’ve just called the police and left it.

“I’m sorry for calling, the message was sent right when I got home and I got a little nervous about it.” Spencer kept going.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Morgan sounded wide awake now. “Run that all by me again, slowly.”

Spencer did so, explaining the messages, and when Morgan asked, reading them out loud. 

“It’s probably nothing.” Spencer said after finishing the last one. 

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.” Morgan said. 

There were noises on the other end that Spencer couldn’t quite discern.

“Have you called anyone else about this?” Morgan asked, voice sounding slightly muffled.

“I called JJ, but she didn’t answer.” Spencer said. “I didn’t know who else to call, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Morgan’s reply was immediate. “I’m happy you called me, kid. But I want you to call Garcia as well. She keeps weird hours sometimes, it’ll be alright. She might be able to help trace the messages.”

Spencer paused. Morgan made sense of course. He should call Garcia. But a part of him that wasn’t willing to listen to rationality at the moment didn’t want him to hang up, leave him alone here. He took a breath before answering. 

“Okay, I’ll call her.”

“And I’ll be over soon, okay? I want you to call her as soon as you hang up with me. You got that, genius?"

"Wait, what?" 

“I’ll call the police for you, but I want you on the phone with someone until I get there, okay?”

“You’re coming here?” The statement stopped Spencer, freezing him in place.

“It’ll take me a bit but I should be there soon.” Morgan said and Spencer could hear him shutting a door as he spoke. 

“You really don’t have to.” Spencer tried to figure out what he wanted. He felt instinctive relief at the idea of Morgan coming over, felt safer. But the rest of his mind was going over every detail of his apartment, pointing out every strange aspect, every little thing that would yell out Spencer’s divergence from the norm. 

“Yeah, I do. Don’t worry about it, just call Garcia.” 

“Okay.” Spencer managed and heard the line disconnect. 

He went through the short lists of contacts on his phone, hitting Garcia’s. She answered shortly.

“Who disturbs me from my beauty sleep?” she said, but sounded awake.

“Garcia? It’s Reid.” Spencer managed to summarize the situation and within minutes Garcia had control over his computer. 

“Well I can definitely try to track these, but I can’t guarantee anything. It’s been a while since the text so unless he’s still using that phone, I’m not sure we’ll get anything from that. But we’ll find this guy.” Garcia’s confidence was reassuring and Spencer could turn his mind back to one of his lesser but still pressing concerns- Morgan was going to be here soon. 

With a shock Spencer realized he was still wearing Morgan’s sweater. And even worse, at some point without noticing he’d proceeded to do what he thought he’d stopped doing with his own clothing, let alone others, and had chewed on the end of one of the strings, the plastic aglet now mangled beyond recognition. 

Shit.

He was in his bedroom, Garcia left on speaker speaking mostly to herself in the other room, pulling the sweater off hurriedly when he heard the knock on the door. He froze, the garment halfway over his head when he heard Morgan’s voice.

“Reid? It’s me.” 

Resuming his breath, Spencer shoved the sweater into a drawer, slammed it shut and went to the door, peeking through the peephole first to confirm. Morgan stood on the side waiting.  
Spencer swung the door open and was confronted with the sight of Morgan standing in the doorway, looking perfect as always and was suddenly very conscious of himself in only his sweatpants and cotton t-shirt, by now so worn that the joke on the front had faded to leave only fragments of a now nonsensical equation. He had found the original quite funny and had loved the soft fabric. Now he was confronted with the realization it looked ratty and next to Morgan, fully dressed, he felt wrong.

Morgan didn’t seem to notice though, as Spencer folded his arms over his chest defensively, he just stepped inside, looking around. 

“So, this is where you live, pretty boy.” Morgan half smiled, picking up a book Spencer had left on the couch earlier, an analysis of some of the predictions made in the earliest seasons of Star Trek.  
Before Spencer could respond, Garcia’s voice echoed from the phone on the desk.

“Is that my one and only I hear over there?”

“You know it, baby girl.” Morgan walked over to the phone and picked it up, switching off speaker. “Just got here, tell me what you’ve got.” 

Spencer came over as well, trying to listen in, feeling that taking his own phone off speaker was unfair. 

“Okay, thanks, sugar, let me know when you get anything.” Morgan shut off the phone and turned to Spencer.

“She can’t find the source.” Spencer said flatly.

“Not yet, no.” Morgan answered. “But she will. I have faith in that girl. How are you doing though?”

Spencer didn’t answer. Standing there in his living room, in his invaded home, the place that should’ve been safe, it was hard to come up with an acceptable reply. Morgan seemed to understand, after waiting a few moments he continued.

“The police have been alerted but they say because there doesn’t seem to be any clear and present danger, they may take a while to respond.” Morgan’s tone told Spencer exactly what he thought of the police’s response time, bringing a small smile to his lips despite the situation. Morgan was always polite to local police, but away from the precincts he wasn’t afraid to point out their many flaws, and it seemed now was no exception. It was strange to see him behaving like this, like he was investigating a case, but, Spencer realized, he supposed he was. Another BAU case, a stalker this time. Only now, instead of being an outside viewer, someone who can come in and put the pieces together he was one of them. 

“They do have to prioritize their calls.” Spencer said. 

“This should be a priority.” Morgan said. “But without the incompetent officers who’re supposed to be protecting us, why don’t you show me what was left for you?”

Spencer nodded and led him to the kitchen. He could almost feel Morgan’s eyes scanning his apartment, taking in all the little details Spencer knew were out of place. 

“He left a dried flower, and this box. I haven’t opened it I, uh, I didn’t know what was inside and while the sender doesn’t seem to wish me harm, I really don’t know enough about him to discern whether it could pose a threat.” Spencer was still talking, talking until he ran out of breath and had to take it mid-sentence before continuing. 

“The flower seems to be a red rose, not the typical one you’d picture, but ‘rose’ is actually a pretty vague name, roses span different shapes and colors, and while this one is a deep red, the head and petals aren’t furled in the same way you’d picture a rose to.” 

He was still describing it even as Morgan could see it for himself, but Morgan waited until he had stopped speaking before answering.

“Okay, so he sent you an unusual rose. Any personal significance to it?” 

“Not that I can think of. Of course, there’s the typical meaning of a red rose.” Spencer stopped himself remembering Morgan’s specialty in crimes of passion. He knew perfectly well what a red rose meant.

“And the box?” Morgan asked, moving around to the other side of the wooden table, eyeing the sleek black box contrasting with the scratched wood. 

“I don’t know.” Spencer said, and it was so true it hurt. He didn’t know anything about this, didn’t know what was sent, who sent it or why. He, the genius analyst, who was supposed to know everything, who was there because he knew things, didn’t even know who had been in his own apartment today. 

“He talks about waiting for you, he sends you a rose. I don’t think he’s trying to hurt you.” Morgan takes out his phone and snaps a few pictures before asking.

“You have any gloves?”

Spencer pulls out a box from a cupboard under the sink, and they both don them although Spencer really doesn’t want to touch the ‘gifts’ even with the thin barrier between them. So, it’s Morgan who opens it, carefully lifts the tissue paper to reveal four chocolate lollipops, laid carefully within, each one drizzled with a different topping, appearing to be different forms of chocolate.

Morgan was puzzled, and opened his mouth to question it when he saw Spencer’s face.

“Reid?” 

Spencer crossed over to a slim cupboard and opened it. The top two shelves were empty, but on the bottom, his jar of lollipops stood, full of an assortment of different flavors, but all roughly the same size of the ones lying in the box. 

“They help me focus sometimes. I eat them a lot at home.” Spencer said, and feeling this was not enough followed up with  
“It’s actually not unusual, it can help focus and uh, some flavors have been proven to keep you alert and focused more” 

“I get it.” Morgan stopped him this time. “Nothing wrong with liking candy.”

“Yeah, I just, I’ve used them to focus since college. They’ve always been my favorite.” Spencer shut the cupboard again, closing the jar away. 

“Well, they’re better than pens, less likely to implode and poison you.”

“It wouldn’t have poisoned me; the quantity of ink wasn’t nearly enough to leave averse lasting effects.”

“Yeah, okay.” Morgan said, and then without warning, picked up Spencer’s hand. Spencer could feel Morgan’s body heat through their gloves, the rough surface of his fingers, their gentle touch. Of course, Morgan would have warm hands, perfect to   
hold. It took Spencer a couple of seconds to see what Morgan was pointing out, visible through the transparent glove, his nails were still stained a pale blue.

“No lasting effects, huh pretty boy?” 

Spencer was saved from answering by a knock on the door. 

“Wait here.” Morgan dropped his hand and headed out the room.

Spencer didn’t answer, just followed after him, feeling his heart thumping in his chest. Morgan gestured for him to get back, other hand on his gun but Spencer’s only concession was to hang a few steps back while Morgan opened the door to the bored   
cops on the other side. 

It was quickly clear that they were going to be of little help. After listening to Spencer tell his story yet again, one informed them he’d write up a report and told them to call if there was anything new. Spencer remained calm and removed throughout although Morgan was getting increasingly upset at the young officer. 

“So that’s it?” Morgan asked.

“Look, sir, there really isn’t much else we can do. There are no signs of a break in, no signs of anything illegal.”

“There are all the signs of a stalker, which last I checked, is pretty illegal.” Morgan faced the cop down.

“I’m sorry, but there isn’t enough to take action. If anything, else comes up, you can call.” The other said and Morgan turned on him before Spencer stopped him.

“Thank you, officers.” He said and they all but fled, grateful to be out from under Morgan’s glare. 

“Fucking incompetents.” Morgan muttered after they had gone. 

“They’re not wrong though.” Spencer said. “There really just isn’t enough evidence.” 

“There’s plenty of evidence. They just don’t want to consider it. It’s enough for a profile. I’m calling Hotch.” Morgan’s face was set, his body tense. 

“Now?” Spencer looked over at the time. “It’s almost three in the morning, we’ll be going into the office in a few hours anyway. We don’t have to call him now.”

Spencer was telling the truth, it was late. But it wasn’t just that. Spencer was tired. It had been a long day, and then after the night’s events, he had been running on fear. But now Morgan was here, taking charge and some of the fear was draining away, making room for the exhaustion it had kept at bay. 

Morgan relaxed a little as he viewed Spencer.

“You’re right. You should get some sleep, kid.” 

“Thank you for coming over.” Spencer said, waiting for Morgan to leave but instead, Morgan just situated himself on Spencer’s couch. Spencer looked over at him, confused.

“You’re not going to go?” he hated the little note of hope that had snuck its way into the question.

“And leave you to whatever crazy sent all this? I don’t think so, pretty boy. I’ll be fine out here, go get your beauty sleep.”

Spencer knew he should argue but was too tired, instead heading to bed. He lay awake for ten minutes before getting back up. He was tired, exhausted in fact, but every time he closed his eyes one of the messages would enter his mind, glowing neon   
against his eyelids. 

He left his room and found Morgan sprawled on the couch, texting. Morgan looked up as he approached and made more room for him to sit. Spencer perched on the other end.

“Garcia hasn’t found anything.” Morgan said, softly. “I told her to go to sleep and continue tomorrow.”

Spencer nodded in acknowledgment. 

“You know we’ll find him, right?” Morgan continued. 

Spencer didn’t answer.

“Oh, you know I’m right, baby Einstein. You just never want to admit when I am. Remember that unsub back in New York?” Morgan asked and then, perhaps realizing that murderers may not be the relaxing topic he was going for added.

“Or that little hole in the wall in New York? You thought that place was going to be terrible.”

Spencer actually smiled at that one. 

“I didn’t think it was terrible. I just pointed out it was small and dimly lit.” he could hear his words weighed down with his exhaustion. 

“Oh, come on. You thought it’d be terrible. But I was right in the end then.”

“You weren’t wrong.” Conceded Spencer.

“Wasn’t wrong.” Morgan muttered. “Yeah I’d say I wasn’t wrong. 

Morgan kept talking but at some point, they became less words, and more sounds, as Spencer finally allowed his eyes to close and saw nothing, the stream of sound washing over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! I'm still hoping to stick to my weekly upload schedule, and I'd love to hear what you think, what you liked (or didn't) and what you're hoping for to come next


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! We have Derek's POV this time, so lmk what you think of that. And thank you so so much to my beta readers rose (reidtheroom on tumblr, dilaudiddreams here on ao3) and Em (rxseinbloom on tumblr) both brilliant writers who you should definitely check out

Derek was half asleep when the sun started filtering through the curtains, casting light on the rich tones in the room around him. Blinking himself awake, getting his bearings, he remembered where he was— and why.

All the times he had allowed himself to imagine staying the night at Reid’s, sleeping on the couch never quite entered the scene. 

Of course, none of this was exactly how Derek had pictured it. 

The apartment itself wasn’t how he ever would have imagined it to look like. Some of it was quintessentially Spencer Reid; the old bookshelves stuffed with classics, the polished wood, all of it fit. But then, out of nowhere, there would be a pop of color, an aspect that shouldn’t quite work, like the throw pillow he had fallen asleep on—bright pink and ridiculously soft with worn fringes all around. 

Derek pulled it out, playing with the fringes as he considered the next step. 

Reid wasn’t awake yet, as far as he could discern; the apartment was completely silent. 

Derek pulled out his phone and called Hotch.

“Morgan?” Hotch sounded awake, alert. Derek didn’t know when the man slept.

“Hey, Hotch. I’m over at Reid’s now. Got something to talk to you about.”

“Morgan, what you and Reid do out of the office is entirely your business. Unless you’re looking for a full HR intervention, I’m not sure why I need to be involved, and quite honestly would really prefer not to be.”

“No, not like that.” Derek said.“He called me last night. He’s got some kind of stalker. Someone who knew case details, who broke into his home, sent him strange possessive texts, emails. Left chocolates. I’m worried this stalker’s only going to escalate   
in behavior.”

“You’re really worried about it.” Hotch said.

“Yes.” Derek answered, relieved that Hotch was taking him seriously. But then again, he always did—he trusted his judgement.

“Okay.” Hotch paused, considering. “I suppose you’ve got Garcia on the messages already?”

“I asked her last night, she couldn’t find anything.”

“I’ll call her, ask her to fill me in further. You call JJ, tell her to postpone any current cases or push them to a different team. We’ll work this today.”

“Thank you.” Morgan said.

“I’ll see you in the office.” Hotch said and he was gone. 

Morgan sat back. At least Hotch took it seriously, even if the local police refused. Then again, Reid wasn’t one of the local police. He was one of them, and they took care of their own.

Not that Derek could deny he had a special interest in Reid. And who could blame him? Reid was smart, a literal genius, and charming, in a nerdy, statistics quoting kind of way. It was a way Derek would never have found charming before, but now, god, when Reid went off on one of his interests, on a little tidbit of information that fascinated him, Derek would listen to him forever if he could. Sometimes he’d listen to Reid talk just to see his eyes light up and his entire body animate, straighten up while he gesticulated, making his point.

When Derek first met him, he thought Reid would make him feel stupid. After all, how could everyone else stand up to a genius? A young prodigy, for whom exceptions had been made so he could join the team? Derek had expected a know-it-all who looked down on all the mere mortals around him.

And yet, while Reid certainly seemed to know it all, he never brought himself above those around him. He respected the others’ skills, and when he did share information or correct someone, he always did so with a genuine desire to share. It wasn’t that he was demonstrating how much he knew, Derek had realized. It was that he just had so much information he assumed everyone else wanted to know as well. And he was happy to share it with them so they, too, could enjoy knowing the facts, even if sometimes, they weren’t quite as enthusiastic.

Derek grinned slightly, before pulling himself out of it and calling JJ.

“SSA Jennifer Jareau,” JJ said, and Derek rolled his eyes. She was always so formal on the phone, despite her tired tone, clearly just waking up.

“JJ? I’m at Reid’s now, I need you to postpone whatever we have on today.”

“Morgan, as happy as I am for the both of you, I cannot change our schedule just because—”

“I’m at Reid’s because he called me about a stalker,” Derek interrupted her.

“A _stalker_?”

“Someone broke into his home, JJ. They’ve been sending him creepy messages and now they broke in to his apartment. He called me last night, and I stayed over to make sure he didn’t come back. Hotch said we can look into it today.”

There was silence for a moment. 

JJ, normally unshakeable, took a second before responding. “He called me last night. I was asleep. Oh my god.”

“It’s fine. He’s fine. Nothing else happened last night. We just need to be able to focus on figuring it out today.” Derek said. So, he _hadn’t_ been Reid’s first call.

“Of course. I’ll clear the schedule.”

“Thanks, JJ. See you soon.”

Hanging up, Derek checked the time. It was still early, and Reid hadn’t managed to fall asleep until a few hours ago. With what was happening, it was probably best he get as much sleep as possible. He had been so tired last night, barely able to carry on a conversation until he fell asleep on the couch, leaving Derek with the task of half-carrying him to bed.

He had woken up then, just barely, just long enough to look at Derek and say, “Oh. You’re not a dream. That’s good.”

Before Derek put him down on his bed and turned to go.

“You’re not s’posed to leave.” Reid’s voice was heavy with sleep and so soft that Derek wondered if he’d imagined it. He had come back to the bed, but Reid was already fast asleep again.

He probably thought Derek was someone else. Trying to speculate what he meant was a fool’s errand. That didn’t mean Derek wouldn’t go over it over and over, Reid looking up at him from his mess of pillows (at least four of them, who needs that many pillows) hair floating around his head, a golden halo, face completely calm, devoid of the worry that had been plaguing it all night. 

Not that that was an image Derek needed right now. Now he needed to be there for Reid as his friend, not as the man who was uselessly pining over him.

He should make breakfast, save time for when Reid did get up. 

He was in the kitchen when the box, still lying open on the table, reminded him that someone else rummaging through his apartment and using his kitchen was probably the last thing Reid needed right now. He was always possessive about his things, (not in a selfish way, he just liked his things the way they were), and Derek did his best to respect that. It was a bit over the top at times, but everyone had their little idiosyncrasies, and if it made Reid uncomfortable, Derek was happy to avoid stealing his pens or using his desk like he might with one of the other team members.

So, with that option off the table, Derek found himself at a loss for what he should be doing. He needed to be doing _something_ —he felt too strange sitting, doing nothing, alone in Reid’s home. 

He started with donning gloves, carefully closing the sleek black box, and placing it out of the way along with the rose. They’d need to bring it into the office, but that didn’t mean Reid needed to see it as soon as he woke up.  
Derek was just pulling off his gloves when he heard Reid’s door open. It was still early, but he had managed to get some sleep, at least. 

Derek stayed in the room while he heard Reid moving around, getting ready. He didn’t need to insert himself any further into his life. Eventually, Reid came in to join him, back in his regular attire, although, Derek noticed, there wasn’t a hint of blue anywhere in the outfit. He wasn’t surprised. After breaking into his home, the stalker had already entered into a private area of Reid’s life, and Derek knew the doctor well enough to know he wouldn’t allow the creep into any more if he could help it.

“Good morning, pretty boy.” He said, trying to get ahead of the awkwardness that could result from the night before.

“Morning.” Reid answered. “Thanks for last night. For staying, and I assume it was you who took me to bed.”

So, he hadn’t remembered.

“Had to let you get your beauty sleep.” Derek said with a smile.

“I called Hotch,” Derek was cut off by Reid’s phone buzzing, an oddly ominous sound.

“There’s another text.” Reid held out the phone and Derek read the message.

**I send you a gift and you let another man stay the night? Are you trying to anger me, Doctor? You will be mine alone you must know that. Do not anger me. Do not make me punish you.**

Derek looked up from the text at Reid who was now pacing the kitchen.

“He’s still watching me.” Reid said, flatly.

“Alright. We’re going to the office.” Derek said. “Let’s see this creep get into the FBI. I called Hotch, we’re going to find this guy.”

Of course, it was never that simple.

They were in the round table room, Garcia giving them the details as if it was a normal case, when it was apparent to them all that it was anything but.

“So, this slimy creep hasn’t called, only texted. And as of now his emails are evading my expert skills.” Garcia was finishing. “I haven’t gotten anything yet, but I’ll keep working on it.”

“Thanks Garcia.” Hotch said, walking over to the evidence board. He pinned up printouts of all the messages as well as the pictures Morgan had taken earlier.

“You might also want to see if there were other cases like this in the area.” Prentiss spoke up. “Any history of a stalker leaving these kinds of gifts, sending similar messages.”

Garcia nodded, but before she left ,Reid said, “He wouldn’t have sent it to anyone else. Those chocolate lollipops, they’re specific to me.”

“They have some significance to you?” Rossi raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah.” Reid stood from his seat and began walking while he spoke, and while this wasn’t necessarily unusual for him, Derek couldn’t help noticing the effort to avoid eye contact. That was unusual.

“Not the chocolate, I don’t think. But the lollipops themselves, I use them to focus. One of my advisors suggested it when I was working on my first dissertation.” Reid shrugged in what Derek had come to recognize as his defensive stance, facing away from the table, shoulders set.

“You don’t think it could just be a coincidence?” Prentiss asked.

“No.” Reid said.

“It seems that our unsub has been watching Reid, he knows details about the case he was working on, knows the clothing he was wearing. Someone this specific wouldn’t be vague and general about the gift.” Derek said.

“Have you ever received anything like this before?” Hotch asked. “Any strange messages, anyone who was a little too interested in you?”

“No.” Reid repeated, now standing by the evidence board, eyes boring holes in the printouts.

“Do you recognize the writing style? Is it familiar at all?” Rossi joined in.

“No.” Reid said, turning to face them. “I’ve been trying. I don’t remember anyone new coming into my life recently, I don’t recognize the writing style, no one has been behaving strangely towards me, I haven’t invited anyone into my apartment, including repair workers, in months if not over a year, I haven’t had anyone questioning me about specific details of cases, and I don’t know who is doing this. Okay?”

He sat back down, rubbing his left hand over his face.“I don’t know.”

“We know this is hard, Spence.” JJ said after a moment. “You can take a break if you need to.”

“I’m fine.” Reid answered.

The team continued trying to make sense of the evidence but the mood in the room was…strange. They were used to going over all the facts of the case in there, investigating the unsub without actually having to confront the victims. 

Not that Reid was a victim.

Yet.

It was such an ugly word, one that rose unbidden in Derek’s mind and he refused to entertain it. They would stop this guy before anything happened, they’d find him and Reid would be safe. He was safe now; he was surrounded by FBI agents. And yet   
the word wouldn’t go away, just flitted about in the corners of his mind.

Derek got up, muttering something about needing something from Garcia.

Her office at least was blessedly unchanged, quintessentially her. Not that the tension hadn’t permeated the area. She was so intent on her screen she didn’t even notice him come in, not until he came over and placed his arms around her gently and she jumped about three feet in the air with a shriek.

“Derek Morgan!” She spun around in her chair.

“Ooh, full name. Sounds like I’m in trouble.”

She poked him with a pen, the effect somewhat offset by the large fluffy pompom on the end.

“Only if you want to be, sugar. What do you need?”

Derek stepped back and leaned against the table, away from Garcia’s main screens, realizing he had come without an excuse.

“What,” he tried to stall. “Can’t a man just drop in to say hi to his baby girl?”

“While he’s in the middle of a case?” Garcia folded her arms.

“I always have time for you.” Derek said, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it and was waiting for him to explain.

“I needed to get out of the room for a minute.” He admitted.

“It’s too weird in there. And the more we go, the further we have to go into Reid’s life, and—” Derek stopped, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“We’re doing it to help him.”

“I know! But I remember when you all had to help me. And had to go digging through my past. It was for the best, sure, but it still felt like shit, Garcia.”

She looked up at him, surprised by his tone, by the use of her name.

“I just don’t want the kid to have to go through that.” Derek said, almost apologetically after his mini outburst.

“I know. I don’t love this either.”

“What are you doing now, anyway?” he asked.

“Going through all the people who have our local genius’s contact information. Shockingly, it’s not a long list.”

Derek nodded. He hadn’t expected it to be. None of theirs really was. It was hard, with the job, to form bonds. Even harder, he assumed, when you were just a little awkward while meeting new people and assumed everyone would love to hear whatever new piece of information you had picked up recently.

“Anything stand out?”

“Nope. It’s all pretty standard. The bureau, the team, he’s got some friends with his number but as far as I can tell none of them have his email. There are a couple emails about his lectures, I think from students, but I don’t think he’d give any of them his number. The sanitarium has his contact info but their information is super confidential, it was hard for me to get in there.”

“So, we’ve got nothing.” Derek was frustrated now.

“Nothing _yet_.” Garcia corrected him gently. “And I happen to know a team of brilliant profilers working on the case now. They could probably use your help.”

“You’re right. Thanks, baby girl.”

“Any time.”

When Derek got back, Reid wasn’t in the room.

“Coffee break.” Prentiss answered when he cast a questioning look.

“Do we have anything new?” he asked.

“No. Nothing. Meaning…”

“We need to start with victimology.” Derek finished, understanding now why Reid had left. They would have to start digging deep now.Nothing in Reid’s life could go uncovered.

“Yep.” Prentiss said. “He’ll be back in a minute, JJ’s just gone after him.”

Derek nodded. Made sense. JJ would know how to talk to Reid. She had been the one he’d called in the first place.

“We need to figure out when and where Reid may have met our unsub.” Hotch said, moving to the evidence board.

“He doesn’t really need to be in here now, Morgan, why don’t you go find him and JJ and you can go through his schedule with him.”

“He’s going to _want_ to be in here, though.” Derek said. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for Reid to be here while they objectively tore into his life, but he knew the young doctor too well to think he would stay away for long.

“I know. But he’s a smart kid, he knows what needs to happen. You can use my office.” Hotch did too.

Derek shrugged and headed out.

He found them in the small kitchen area, Reid holding a cup of coffee, JJ making her own.

“Weren’t you going decaf?” He asked, trying to appear casual.

“Yeah. Lasted for about a week,” JJ answered wryly.

“Not even. Five days.” Reid said, a thin smile appearing for a moment.

“Don’t you judge me.” JJ said. “I’ve seen how much you drink on a daily basis.”

Reid shrugged. “I’ve never denied my own coffee consumption.”

“At least eat something.” Derek said, pulling open the drawer where they kept energy bars. He had seen similar ones in Reid’s kitchen, presumably his regular breakfast.

“Don’t want to miss the most important meal of the day.” Derek handed him one.

“Actually, that claim is highly debated. While it’s been widely publicized, mostly by the companies who profit off the popularity of the breakfast meal, the actual veracity is a point of contention for many food scientists.” Reid said, but he took the bar.“It’s actually fascinating to trace the history of breakfast, the growth in popularity of specific breakfast foods, and how it’s changing today as less people have the time to have a proper sit-down meal in the morning.”

“Tell me about it.” JJ took one of her own.

Derek, who tried to make sure he ate properly and regularly, just shook his head before asking, “So, you don’t eat breakfast normally? Do you get coffee from anywhere?”

Reid looked up at him sharply and Derek immediately regretted his tactics.

“No. I make my coffee at home. Eat there too. You can write that down if you’d like.”

“Hey, kid,” Derek started but Reid cut him off.

“No, I know. You need my schedule. Hotch doesn’t want me in the round table room?”

Derek’s pause was all the affirmation Reid needed.

“So, we’re just going to go through my life here?” Reid asked, and Derek could see him trying to inject humor in the situation.

“Hotch said we can use his office if you want.”

Derek saw JJ’s eyebrows rise, but she said nothing. Instead, grabbing her caffeinated coffee, she accompanied him and Reid to the office, where they sat, and Reid began to speak.

“I don’t have much of a social life. I come to work; I go home. I use public transportation and have noticed no one taking any unusual interest in me while commuting.”

“What about outside of work? You have that chess group, don’t you?” JJ asked.

“We’re just some people who like to play chess, anyone can come and join, it’s not really a closed group.” Reid answered and Derek noticed him tensing when he spoke about it.

“Anyone there who came across as strange? Maybe was oddly interested in you?” he asked.

Reid made to fold his arms before catching himself.

“I wouldn’t describe them as strange. Many of them don’t always display typical behavior but no one with any specific interest in me.”

There was more there, and Derek hated knowing how far they’d have to go. When Reid shared parts of his life with the team, with him, it was always a symbol of how he grew closer to them, how he learned to open up and trust them. Now, he didn’t   
have a choice, and they just had to keep going.

“Where else do you spend your time?” Derek asked.

“There’s the college I lecture at sometimes,” Reid said.

“Have you noticed anyone there?” JJ asked.

“No. There’re a few students who always pay extra attention, sit in the front, have questions afterwards, but none who would fit this kind of profile.” Reid was sitting on the edge of his seat, running his fingers along the edge of his coffee cup.

“Probably best to get their names, though.”

Reid nodded, and pulled out a notebook and pen from his satchel, and Derek watched as he scrawled a list of three names, his pen skating across the paper. So, these were the source of the student emails.

JJ took the list from him, and left the room.

Derek wondered if he should keep going when Reid said

“I don’t know what went wrong. I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“What went wrong?”

“Someone like this, someone who I had to have interacted with, they should have shown up in my life before. Fairly recently.” Reid got up from his chair, picking up his now empty mug and toying with it. “They wouldn’t have fit in. My life follows a   
pattern and they would’ve broken it.”

“Your interaction may have been minute. It may have been a tiny detail in the day. It’s perfectly normal not to notice that.” Derek could see Reid getting agitated.

“My _job_ is noticing tiny details, Morgan! I see the minute anomalies in patterns. I know it’s not normal to, but I do. It’s why I’m here.”

He gestured while he spoke, eventually flinging the cup so the remaining droplets within were released to the air. They landed on his notebook, sinking into the paper, creating a blotchy stain.

Reid stopped and stared at it, sitting back down and placing the cup on the desk gently.

“Hey. Look at me, kid.” Derek said. He knew it seemed that Reid worked well under pressure, and it was true, he did, but mostly because he didn’t feel he was under pressure in the first place. He had seen Reid confronting a situation, analyzing it, and putting the pressure away. They all did it to some extent. But here it could not just be put away. It was too close—a part of Reid’s own life.

Reid’s eyes met his and for a moment Derek could see the battle Reid was fighting to stay his logical, analytical self, even with the threats, the break in, the invasion of his home and privacy.

“You are going to figure this out. We are going to figure this out. As a team. And maybe he’s appeared in your life recently, or maybe it’s something else that we haven’t seen yet, but we are all here, as a team, for a reason. Because it’s not just on you to find this guy.” Derek said, and Reid relaxed a bit, but Derek could still see the restless frustration that lay just beneath. 

It mirrored his own.

The rest of the day went quickly. There were a couple of what looked like leads but mostly frustration as the day wore on. The team were some of the only people left, but no one wanted to be the first one to say it. Eventually, Hotch spoke up. “Alright, we’re not getting anywhere right now. And it won’t help anything if we’re all too tired to focus. I want you all to go home.”

While no one wanted to agree, everyone knew he was right. They started heading out, but Reid stayed seated for an extra moment.

“You can come home with me, pretty boy.” Derek said, and god, he’d been waiting forever to say that, but Rossi said:

“If he is watching, that could antagonize him further.”

And Derek had to admit, he was right. He had been angry when he had spent the night last night, sent that message about ‘punishment.

“Spence and I can spend the night.” JJ smiled at him.

“Want me to join?” Prentiss asked.

“Maybe while we go to Reid’s place to get his stuff.” She answered, giving Prentiss a look Derek couldn’t quite figure out.

“If anything happens, you’ll call us.” Derek said as they made their way out of the building.

“Yes,” both JJ and Reid answered.

“Don’t worry.” Reid told him. “I’m going to be with JJ and Prentiss when I go home, and then I’ll be with JJ all night. I’ll be fine.”

Derek watched them leave with a tightness in his chest and an uneasiness deep in his stomach. It would be less than an hour until both would be justified and Reid would, for once, be proven wrong.

He would not be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! comments really mean so much to me, and really motivate my writing so if you liked it or if you have any ideas for what you'd like to see, please let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and thank you for coming back even though this chapter took so long, I'm sorry! But I hope it was worth it, I'm excited for this chapter and I hope yall like it, please let me know. And such a huge thank you to penelopecult on tumblr (dilaudiddreams on here) for beta reading this chapter and making it readable. Shoutout to everyone who kudosed and commented because honestly your comments mean so much to me

By the time they pulled up in front of his apartment building, Spencer’s mind was in overdrive. It had been buzzing all day, not just in the ordinary way he’d learned to live with and even enjoy, but with an urgency and fierceness that wouldn’t let him sort his thoughts properly. At least in the office, they were working on the case, they were figuring it out. Now, on the ride to Spencer’s apartment (which had fallen silent), they were doing nothing.

Spencer looked out the window at the building looming over them. For a moment, the familiar structure looked alien to him, and he realized that he didn’t actually want to go inside.

But JJ and Prentiss were already standing outside the car waiting for him, so he adjusted his satchel strap and got out to join them.

Prentiss was eyeing the area. “So this is where you live, then.” 

“Yep,” Spencer answered, closing the car door a little harder than was technically necessary. He led them up to his apartment silently. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them to know where he lived or that he wanted to hide his home. He was perfectly fine with the women seeing his apartment, he’d just like if he had some time to prepare first before they came into a new area of his life. 

The team hung out after work all the time, but until last night, none of them had ever been to Spencer’s home. It wasn’t a conscious decision, really; it was just that his home was separate from work, from all of the places he went outside of it. His home was where he could be comfortable and act as he liked without worrying about how he might look to outsiders, whether that meant polishing off a thick stack of books in hours without moving, curled up on the couch, blue lollipop staining his tongue, or moving too much, rapidly back and forth, making small noises from the back of his throat as his hands flew back and forth or clutched at himself. Things he couldn’t do around anyone else, even his team.  
He trusted them. Of course, he did. They knew he was a bit strange, and they had accepted him for that; he had seen when they made allowances for some of his _quirks_ , as he thought of them. But the impulse to keep everything he could hidden was ingrained too deeply within him to ignore.

“Here it is,” Spencer said, unlocking the door.

“Let us go in, first,” Prentiss said and Spencer nodded. She and JJ drew their guns as they moved through the apartment.

“Clear.” JJ called, and Spencer allowed himself to breathe, stepping into his home.

“Clear.” Prentiss moved into another room. It was fine, he was with two other agents, the stalker wouldn’t be able to do anything to him here.

“Clear.” His home may not be safe right now, but it hadn’t been invaded today.

“Clear.” He was okay today. He felt a fraction of the weight he was carrying lift before

“I think I got something in here,” JJ called and any relief Spencer felt dissipated instantly, the full force of the situation crashing back down.

He appeared in the doorway of the kitchen a moment after Prentiss did. JJ was standing by table, holding a cardboard box, the flaps of which she had just flipped open.

“ _No!_ ” she hissed as they came in. “Stay back.”

All at once, Spencer took in her ashen face, her frozen stance, her panicked eyes.

Prentiss stopped short before moving forward slowly.

“What’s in the box, JJ?” Her voice was low, calm, her hand slightly outstretched as she moved forward.

“Please stay back.” JJ looked like she was about to move back from them but was rooted in place. “Go out of the room. Evacuate the building, call Hotch.” Her words were clear but her voice shaky, coming in gasps.

“Jareau, what is in that box?” Emily was losing her cool, reaching JJ as she finished talking. Spencer caught up quickly, confirming his fears as he looked within.

They had seen bombs like that before. The tangled mess of metal, the brightly colored wires strung haphazardly, all framing a small screen that was counting down.

**2:47**

If she moved too quickly, if it was jostled, if JJ so much as breathed wrong…

Prentiss was already calling Hotch, dialing the number with shaking hands despite her steady voice as she spoke.“I’m not leaving you, JJ. We’re calling Hotch now, you’re going to be fine. You’re going to be just fine. Just stay still, Jayj, we’re going to fix this.”

**2:45**

Spencer stared at it, trying to figure it out. It was similar to what they’d worked with before, but not close enough. If he tried to deal with it himself, he could get it wrong. And getting it wrong here was unthinkable.

A phone rang.

It cut through Spencer’s racing thoughts, an unfamiliar ringtone. Mozart. The three of them stared at the unfamiliar cell phone on the table, ringing its pleasant melody.

JJ was following it with her eyes only, the rest of her body completely still. Prentiss was all movement, speaking to Hotch, telling him they weren’t leaving, that he needed to get a team here, _now now now_ , running out to pull the fire alarm before rushing back.

**2:24**

Spencer picked up the phone, noticing his finger swiping up the screen as though it belonged to someone else.

“Dr. Reid.”

“Hello Doctor. It’s lovely to hear from you. Did you get my gifts?” He was using some kind of voice editor; the words were coherent but the tone was completely flat, generic. Spencer switched it onto speaker, motioning for Prentiss to be quiet.

“This is a gift?” Spencer said, but carefully, he needed to be careful. There could be a secondary trigger, he couldn’t anger him now.

**2:08**

“This isn’t a gift, Doctor. This is a punishment.” 

Spencer could detect nothing through the voice editor, no indications of anger, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

“But I can stop it, if you start behaving.”

Prentiss was talking to JJ in a low voice, too far for the speaker to catch it, telling her that a team was on its way, that the bomb squad would get here, that they were fast.

Spencer knew it wouldn’t be here fast enough.

**1:46**

“Okay. I’ll behave. If this is a punishment for me, the wrong person has it. I’m not holding it.”

“No, the lovely Agent Jareau is.” The voice, still completely flat sent chills running through Spencer, starting from the nape of his neck where they scurried down, digging into his spine.

“What do you want?” Spencer tried to keep his own voice calm now.

“Oh Doctor. Smart, stupid, Doctor. I want you. That’s all. Just put down that gun of yours, leave your badge and that bag of yours and come to me, alone. We’ll go for a drive.”

Prentiss made a frantic motion to him and he switched it to mute.

“No, Spence.” JJ said. “Absolutely not. Both of you need to leave, with your guns, with your badges, and wait for the police.”

“We’re not leaving you. They’re going to come in time.” Prentiss said but it didn’t take a profiler to hear the desperation in her voice. They all looked at the small screen.

**1:14**

“Doctor? I’m waiting. Don’t worry about finding me outside, I’ll find you.”

The line disconnected. There was a moment of silence in the room, letting all the signs from outside, the stampeding people running outside, sirens in the distance. Too distant.

**1:08**

Spencer took his gun out and lay it on the table.

“Spencer Reid, stop. We can hear them coming. I’m going to be okay, whatever you’re thinking, stop it.” JJ looked to Prentiss for help. “Come on, tell him.”

But Prentiss was looking at that little blinking screen and said nothing.

**1:05**

Spencer put his badge down next to it, before pulling off his satchel small deliberate movements.

“Spencer!” He heard JJ call after him as he walked out. “Prentiss, stop him, follow him. Go with him! Leave me. Please, Emily,”

He couldn’t hear anymore. Once he was in the stairwell he started running. He couldn’t see the screen anymore but he didn’t need to.

**0:41**

He burst out the doors into the chaos of his neighbors wandering around, confused. He tried to get to the outskirts of the crowd, make sure he could be seen, but before he could, he felt a sharp prick against his back.

“Walk forward, Doctor. Down to the end of the road. Dark green car. Passenger seat.” In person, his voice was gruff and forceful.

“You stopped it, right? Did you stop the countdown?” Spencer started walking.

“When we’re in the car.”

Spencer walked faster, suddenly hyper aware of his feet hitting the concrete, the slight drizzle of rain falling against his skin, wind blowing straight through his sweater and shirt, wrapping around his flesh. He forced himself to keep his head forward.

**0:28**

He reached the car, finding it unlocked and got inside. It seemed new, perfectly clean but there was nothing remarkable about it. It was painfully ordinary.

His captor walked around the other side, letting Spencer see him for the first time. He was big, not just wider than Spencer but taller too, looming over the car before he stepped in. He pulled out some kind of device and pressed three buttons while 

Spencer looked him up and down, profiling him.

White male, late thirties to early forties, his clothing and shoes pegged him as lower-income although the car didn’t quite fit. Perhaps the clothing was some kind of disguise.

“I stopped it. Now we go.” He said, pulling something else from his pocket. Spencer’s heart skipped a beat when he realized what it was. A syringe.

“I need proof.” Spencer said quickly. “Proof it didn’t go off.”

The man stopped and thought about it for a moment, although not long enough for Spencer to escape. He wouldn’t be able to make it if he tried. They were too close together, and there was no one around, everyone surrounding the building he had just left.

“I need to tie your hands. I’ll take it off when you’re asleep.” The man said at last, and Spencer allowed his hands to be tied tightly together. His feet followed.

Once he was done, the man took his phone and dialed.

“Agent Prentiss.” Her voice filled the car, but before Spencer could say anything the man lifted the trigger threateningly and he fell silent.

“Who am I speaking with?” she asked and he nodded at Spencer.

“You can ask her. Nothing else.”

“Did the countdown stop?” Spencer hated the quiver that had entered his voice. The rope was tight around his wrists and ankles, felt like they were getting tighter by the moment.

“Reid? Where are you?”

“Did it stop?”

“Yes. It stopped. Spenc—”

He shut off the phone, cutting her off.

“Now you need to sleep.” He turned to Spencer who shrank back as much as he could in the small space. He should be relieved The countdown had stopped. The bomb squad would make it in time. JJ and Prentiss would be fine.  
But there was no room for relief; he was too full of fear. It was all encompassing as he saw-- as if in slow motion- the needle piercing his flesh. He could feel his heart racing, his body, in its attempts to prepare him to fight or flee, only succeeding in spreading the drugs more quickly, until he could feel his thoughts fading, his senses failing, until there was nothing left but the fear.

And then there was nothing at all. 

Spencer’s senses came back to him slowly, one after another. He could feel the hard bed frame beneath him, cool metal against his skin. The place seemed old. There was a thick musty scent heavy around him. Dull grey light filtered in through his lashes as he opened his eyes slowly to see the room around him. The light did nothing more than create deep shadows around him. And then he heard:

“Are you awake?” Whispered quickly from his right. 

Spencer blinked a few times, still assessing his surroundings.

He was in a small room, cut in half by the fencing that ran through the middle, separating him from the source of the whisper: a young man on a bed frame not unlike Spencer’s. The bed frames were the only furniture in the room. There was a small water faucet near the floor, next to a metal cup and a sealed bucket. The only way out - a steel door - was separated from Spencer and his fellow captive by another layer of fencing, each gate padlocked shut.

Spencer sat up slowly, shaking off the effects of the drug.

“I’m awake,” he said. His voice sounded wrong, words slurring together. “Where are we?”

He had been in a car, right? A car, he had walked through the rain…he had been scared, why had he been so scared?

Spencer realized with a shock that he didn’t remember. Logically, Spencer should know that this was probably temporary, and not entirely unexpected considering he had no idea what he had been given. But logic hadn’t followed Spencer down into his new prison. No, it had been left outside the thick metal door, and Spencer was left trying to push down his panic as it spurred him out of the bed.

“Whoa, okay.” The man on the other side of the room backed away as Spencer shot up. 

Spencer stopped to take in his appearance.

The first thing that jumped out at Spencer was how thin the other man was. He moved slowly, as though it hurt him, and as Spencer’s eyes got used to the dim light, he was able to see the bruises boldly splashed on the young man’s skin, the angry cut right beneath his brown hair, and the puffiness around one of his hazel eyes.

Spencer backed down, slowing as his mind cleared. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The man gave him a wan smile. “I was like that when he got me here first too.”

“How long have you been here?” Spencer asked, pacing around his small space, trying to gather information. Little was forthcoming. The place was bare, the only light coming from a dim bulb in a wire cage.

The man was quiet for so long that Spencer wasn’t sure he heard the question.

“I don’t know,”he said finally. “It’s hard to keep track in here. He doesn’t turn the light off.”

“Who is he?” Spencer asked. “Who are you?”

“Karr. James Karr. Which I could say it was nice to be meeting you, but here –” James trailed off and Spencer nodded, sitting back down. His memories were beginning to return as the drug induced haze faded.

“Spencer Reid. I’m a federal agent. My team, they’ll find us.”

And then he remembered.

The bomb. The call. _Oh god, JJ_. He realized he had no idea if his sacrifice actually worked. Prentiss had said it had stopped, but what was keeping his captor from triggering it once Spencer was out?

His team would come for him.He knew they’d move heaven and earth aside to search for one of their own. But that was if his team was still intact.

“I just need to figure out how to contact them.” Spencer said, thinking aloud more than speaking to James.

“You can’t,” James said. “There’s no way. The only time we’re allowed out is when he takes us. And he doesn’t let us out of his sight.”

Spencer steeled himself, trying to distance himself from the answer before even asking the question.

“What does he do then? When he takes you?”

“He—he hurts us. He likes how it looks on us, how it feels. You gotta let him know it hurts.” James sounded almost desperate now, holding onto the fencing between them.

“He’ll keep hurting you until you scream, and beg. If you do it first, he’ll finish sooner.”

Spencer forced his attention away from the bruises on the other man’s face.

“You keep saying ‘us.’ Are there others?” Spencer asked.

“Not anymore. That’s why you need to scream.” James wouldn’t look away; his own eyes kept meeting Spencer’s. Spencer could see a strange glint in them, an odd brightness. It took him a second to realize they must be tears forming in the bruised   
face.

“If you don’t scream, he keeps hurting you. He wants to hear it. If he isn’t satisfied, he’ll keep going. And then you don’t come back. And then he brings in someone else.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Spencer said, more confidently than he felt. “My team will be investigating. They’ll find us.”

James moved back to his own bed frame, lying back and looking at the ceiling. It didn’t take a profiler to see he didn’t believe Spencer’s assertions.

“I’m just warning you. Let him hear you scream.”

It was at least a day before he came back. Spencer realized, as the door opened, that he knew nothing about him. Not who he was, not why he had chosen Spencer, not how long he had been doing this nor to how many people.

The man didn’t say anything when he walked in, just looked over at the two of them, almost dispassionately.

“Please.” Spencer raised his arms in a helpless gesture as he stepped forward. Not that he needed to. Weaponless, trapped, caged, he was as helpless as it got “Let’s talk about this. You wanted me. You have me now. Why don’t we talk a little now that I’m here. Can we talk?”

Spencer could feel his mouth moving, the words spilling out too fast. Hotch would probably tell him he was going on for too long. But Hotch wasn’t here to help him. No one was - he was left alone with his captor and his treacherous tongue.

At last his captor spoke.

“I don’t want you to speak.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do?” Spencer asked.

The man stood staring at him, as though it was taking a while for the words to reach his mind and longer for him to figure out how to answer.

“I want you to hurt. I want you to bleed.”

“Take me today.” James’s voice was stronger now, and Spencer watched as he pulled himself to the fencing blocking them off from their tormentor.

“You can save him. For later. Next time.”

The man considered the wisdom of this for what felt like several minutes (but was probably mere seconds) before entering James’s enclosure, tying his hands and leading him out.

“I’ll break you in tomorrow. We’ll have fun, doctor.”

It didn’t take long for the screaming to begin. It was loud, echoing down into the dungeon Spencer was left in. They had to be somewhere isolated. He began to form, if not the full picture, at least some of the pieces. Left sitting alone in his makeshift cell, there wasn’t much else he could do. 

And think he did, his mind replaying the events leading up to his abduction. 

He should have left some sign for the team. 

Should have been smarter about it. 

He was supposed to be the logical one, but he had been so panicked that all logic had flown away. And he had let it. He had let it, and now, he was here, and he had no idea where the rest of the team was or whether they were okay.

If they weren’t, it would be because of him. If his apartment was now in flames—but, no, it wouldn’t be anymore, it was too late for that. It would be left alone now, covered in police tape, the kitchen blackened with ash, the table dented by the force of impact, cabinets off their hinges. There’d have been motion, desperate, an explosion of light and sound, and now there would be nothing at all. Just the breeze from the cracked windows, swinging the burnt remains of curtains, gently against blackened walls.

Prentiss wouldn’t have left. Spencer knew that with every cell in his body. He had seen the way she had looked at JJ, the panic in her eyes, the resolution. She would have stayed with her until the end. It was Spencer who had walked away. Without thinking, without figuring out how to be sure he could save them.

He paced around his enclosure, rubbing his hand against his neck. He had stifled the urge at first but then realized it was pointless. There was no one around to see it.

James didn’t walk back down as much as he was pulled, stumbling down the stone steps into his enclosure. Their captor left after throwing in an opaque bag, and James merely slumped against the wall, wincing when it hit his back.

Spencer walked over to the fence dividing them, where he could begin to see the damage done. Blood was soaking its way through the man’s tattered shirt, staining the cement wall.

“What—” Spencer took a breath before asking. “What happened?”

James just shook his head, eyes drooping closed. 

“Not too bad,” he said softly. “’M okay. He used some kind of whip maybe. No knife.”

“You let him take you. Not me.” Spencer said.

James shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to him sometimes. He’ll probably take you next time. I just pushed it off.” 

“Why?” Spencer asked.

James looked him up and down, and Spencer couldn’t help the feeling that the man currently slumped and bleeding was pitying him.

“Because he hasn’t gotten to you yet. He hasn’t hurt you, you’re still…” James gestured vaguely with the hand that wasn’t pressing fabric against a wound.“It’s been a while since I saw someone like you. You’ve got this hope about your team, you haven’t been hurt yet, I don’t know.” James’s voice was trailing off.

Spencer didn’t know how to answer.

“They’re going to come,” he settled on. “They will find us.”

“Sure.” James’s tone wasn’t unkind. Just defeated.

“We got food, at least. He always leaves some after he hurts someone,” James said, moving over to the bag and pulling out some dried fruit, preserved meat, and some kind of crackers. He began moving torturously slowly towards Spencer.

“No. You keep it.” Spencer ignored his stomach’s pangs of protest. “There isn’t much, I’m fine. You need it.”

“You’ll need it, too.” James pushed some of the food underneath the fencing, where there was a gap between the floor and the twisted metal. “You gotta make it last though. I dunno when he’s going to come back.”

Spencer nodded.

He was asleep when it happened. 

He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, but after long enough with nothing around, after nothing happening and his mind going and going, until even that was exhausting, he was pulled into its depths - a restless sleep, too many dreams rising to the front of his mind, JJ’s panicked face as she held the flower left for Spencer, the rose slowly turning black, the rot spreading as the petals wilted and the stem shriveled until it had reached her fingers and she too began fading staring at Spencer with wide eyes. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak and it was almost welcome when his sleep was interrupted. 

The thick door swung open and shut with a clang, their captor stepping in.

“Your turn, doctor.”

And then he was unlocking the door with one hand, holding the gun with the other.

“Come on.”

Spencer raised his hands again, moving slowly.

“Yeah, just like that. I’ll show you where to go. You can try to run, doctor, but my bullets are faster than you. Also,” and the man laughed, a short, terribly gleeful sound. “There’s nowhere to run to. Don’t worry. We’re nice and safe here. No one to   
interrupt.”

Spencer nodded, trying to regulate his breathing as he walked up the stairs. 

To his surprise, when they reached the top, the door opened not into a building, but outside, giving Spencer his first breath of fresh air in what had to have been days.

Everything hit him at once, all his senses screaming, and he tried to calm them down, catalogue his surroundings.

It was night, the moon shining a dim light on Spencer, and that at least was something - no overwhelming brightness to blind him. Plenty of other overwhelming aspects filled the space instead: the feeling of twigs crunching underfoot as he stumbled across a grassy clearing, shrubs pulling at his legs, and the feeling of a branch scratching into his calf, dirty and dragging along his skin.

The whine of insects was high pitched, and he could feel them flitting around, attracted to the flashlight lit behind him, illuminating the structure ahead of them: a small wooden hunting cabin.

Spencer wasn’t even aware of the small, repetitive noises coming from the back of his throat as his hand rose to his neck, rolling his head into his shoulder until the voice came harshly from behind him.

“Shut up and keep moving!”

Spencer stiffened, hands dropping to his sides as he continued on, stifling his sounds. It wasn’t too far to the cabin, but when he turned to look behind him as he approached the door, he realized he couldn’t see the entrance to where he had been kept. It was hidden in the trees, or just by the darkness. 

The man reached from behind him, pushing the door open with a shove, and Spencer stumbled over the threshold.

He didn’t know what he had been expecting. Some kind of torture chamber, a bare bones house with chains on the walls, blood on the floor, cold and poorly insulated. Whatever he had been expecting, it definitely wasn’t this.

It was warm in the cabin, the scent of cooked meat wafting through the air. The lights mounted on the wall were warm, illuminating a scene that could only be described as cozy. 

They entered into a small hallway, and Spencer could see into the rooms as they passed them.

A small living room, a comfortable couch beneath a large bookcase. There were a few hunting trophies up above a stone fireplace.

A kitchen area, well cleaned, dishes drying beside the sink.

Spencer’s feet sank into carpeting as he was guided towards a door at the end of the hall, leading into a sparse room. At first glance it was nothing, a storage room, full of odds and ends, boxes piled high against the wall, a carpet on the floor.

“Take off your shirt.” The order caught Spencer by surprise.

“What?”

“I said,” the gun was jabbed towards him threateningly. “Take off your shirt. And socks and shoes. No running.”

“Okay. Okay, I’m doing that now.” Spencer moved slowly. “I can’t run, remember? There’s nowhere to run to.”

His captor looked at him silent for a moment while Spencer stripped off his shirt, bared his feet. He stared at Spencer’s bare skin before a smile crossed his face.

“You’re going to be so pretty.”

He pulled a long length of rope from one of the boxes and Spencer tried to think quickly. There was a window, his gun was down, if Spencer rushed at him now, disbalanced him, he could overpower him—

But his thoughts took too long. He was back, tying Spencer’s hands together above his head expertly before guiding him over to the wall, attaching the rope to a ring jutting out, so Spencer had to strain to keep his weight on his feet.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you?” His captor sounded excited as he tossed Spencer’s shoes into a pile in the corner, moved away his clothing.

Spencer, remembering his command not to speak, said nothing.

“Answer me, doctor. Do you know what I’m going to do?” He turned away, retrieving something from another box. When he turned back, he was holding a knife.

Spencer had seen plenty of knives in his time at the bureau. Oftentimes they were overly furnished, with ornately carved handles. There were knives with curved blades, ones which screamed their intentions. Overcompensating knives. This was not one of them. It was basic, sharp and nasty. It didn’t need to broadcast its intention to carve up flesh, it just did it. It was the knife of someone who wanted results.

“You’re going to hurt me?” Spencer heard his voice, coming out wrong, too high pitched. But if anything, it made the man smile.

“Smart doctor. I’m going to paint that pretty white skin red. You’re going to be even better than the others.”

“Why?” Spencer stood, completely stripped of control. He couldn’t overpower him before, like he really should have (he was an FBI agent for god’s sake), but he could still speak.

“Why me?”

His captor set up another piece of equipment, a camera mounted on a tripod, angling it so Spencer could be seen clearly. Finally, he flicked a switch on the wall and a light, brighter than Spencer had seen in days shone down on him, causing him to rear   
back, swinging on his arms, ripping a groan from his body.

“No, not yet!” the man sounded angry. “I haven’t started it yet!”

“Started what?” Spencer couldn’t hide the fear in his voice anymore, gave in and let it show.

“This.” A screen mounted on some boxes flickered to life and Spencer saw the filming begin.

“This is art, doctor. My art. I make the rules. Now we can start.”

He advanced on Spencer, a hulking shadow on the screen, pulling the knife. And as he began, Spencer couldn’t help but take James’s advice.

He screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, please let me know your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after forever, i'm back with an update! thank you so much to all yall who are coming back im sorry it took so long. I'm hoping next update will be alot sooner.  
> Thank you so so so much to my wonderful beta Rose @dilaudiddreams here on ao3 (their chanel fic is absolutely divine and i do reread it regularly) and @m0rcia on tumblr (where their posts are absolutely iconic)

It had been two weeks and three days. Two weeks since Derek had gotten Garcia’s panicked call, had rushed to Reid’s apartment, late, much too late. Two weeks since he’d been taken, and they were no closer to finding him.

The first few days they had stuck together. They set up the evidence board at the office, combed every inch of his apartment, gone over every detail. But the evidence board remained painfully empty, and everything in Reid’s apartment was, not normal, but everything was _him_.

Eventually, Garcia stayed holed up in her lair, no longer coming out every other minute to see what they had found, trying to hunt down an intangible captor. Hotch moved to his office. At this point, he spent as much time trying to get administrative permission for them to keep this up as he did actually working on what little they had.

JJ stayed in her office too, compulsively going over the evidence, following up on leads the team knew would lead nowhere. She refused to talk to anyone unless it was about a piece of evidence or a possible lead. Derek didn’t think she’d gone home more than three times over the past two weeks. Emily had tried, she was worried about her and he’d seen her go to talk to JJ, but he’d seen her leave too, a helpless expression on her face.

Emily herself withdrew, she showed up early and left late but she did leave. Derek didn’t think she was going home though. 

Rossi was going home, if he wasn’t with Hotch in his office he was working alone.

Derek was, well, he kept ending up here. In Reid’s home.

He’ll hate it when he finds out what they’ve done to it, Derek knew that for a fact. When they bring him back and he realizes they’ve gone over every inch. Reid’s a private person, and besides, he likes everything to be in place.

Derek can’t give him his privacy back, but in the absence of anything else to do, while he looks over the apartment again, he can put it back into place.

He washed out the mugs with just a few drops of coffee lingering on the bottom. Cleaned away all the marks of the team’s searches. After the first week he’d cleaned the kitchen out of easily perishable food, giving away what he could. He watered the small succulent he’d found in Reid’s room exactly as the internet told him to.

Now when he came back to the apartment it looked as it had when he had on the night he’d been called, when Reid had trusted him to keep him safe. And he hadn’t.

He was putting exactly the right amount of water into the small ceramic pot when he became aware of the figure in the doorway. He finished pouring, slowly putting it back down in the right corner of the shelf that Reid kept it before turning around.

“Prentiss.” He folded his arms as he addressed her.

“Hotch told me you’d probably be here.” She said, coming in and sitting down on Reid’s bed. He winced.

“Here I am. Why, did you find something?” Derek pulled out his phone quickly, making sure there was nothing he’d missed, but no. No missed calls, no new messages.

“Nothing.” Prentiss confirmed. “I just wanted to talk to you, Derek. We—I’ve been worried about you.”

“Me? I’m fine. We need to be worrying about Reid.” Derek said, clutching the now empty plastic cup, fingers smudging the sharpie fill line he’d put earlier. He hadn’t wanted to use one of Reid’s.

“Reid wouldn’t want you to be making yourself sick.” Prentiss answered. “When’s the last time you went home? When did you last sleep?”

“Reid wants us to find him. And when he comes home, he doesn’t need to come home to dead plants,” Derek said shortly. 

She just sat and stared at him, unimpressed by his avoidance.

“Why are you here anyway? Go talk to JJ. I don’t know that she’s gone home once this week.” Derek said.

“JJ is, well, she’s not doing so well either.” Prentiss admitted. She shifted Reid’s pillow, and Derek made a mental note to move it back. He wouldn’t like that, her sitting on his bed. When he comes back, he’ll be annoyed.

“She won’t listen to me.” Prentiss continued, and Derek didn’t have to be the profiler he was to see how much that weighed on her, how much it hurt. “I was actually hoping you could speak to her.”

“So that’s why you’re really here.”

She messed up the blankets as she shifted, he’ll have to make the bed when she leaves, he’ll have to stay and put it all in order for Reid.

“It’s not just that.” She said, but there was no defensiveness in her voice. No fight in it for once. She was being honest, and he thought she might be too tired to be anything else. “We really are worried about you. And JJ—she thinks you hate her; you know.”

The plastic cup was surprisingly loud when it crumpled in his hand. He looked away when he says

“I don’t hate her.”

“Or me?” she asked softly as she moved again. The blankets were practically off the bed now.

“I don’t hate anyone.” He said simply.

“Listen, Derek, I don’t—”

“You should get up.” He cut her off, folding his arms, a typical defensive gesture, but he doesn’t care.

“What?”

“Get up from the bed. You’re messing it up. I’m going to have to make it again.”

She stood slowly, moving to straighten the blankets.

“No, I’ll do it.” He said before he could stop himself. A part of him was only too aware of what he looked like. It told him he sounded insane, that no matter how well he took care of Reid’s apartment it won’t change the fact he didn’t take care of him. But the rest of him overruled the thought. He’d do what he could.

Besides, she hadn’t seen it. Reid’s bedroom that night when Derek had to carry him to bed, looking so soft in sleep, so beautiful as he lay him down. The light had been switched off, but the soft glow from the nightlight plugged in near the carefully made bed, the moonlight from the window, it was enough to illuminate the contours of his face, peaceful in sleep, it was enough to show Derek how small he looked lying there. Small and fragile.

He knew how Reid’s bedroom should look. She didn’t.

“Okay.” She backed away from the bed, hands raised slightly. He recognized her tone, the one they used when they weren’t quite sure of the stability of the person they were speaking with. And suddenly, he felt the surge of anger he’d been holding down bubbling up.

“Derek, you _need_ to talk to someone. If not me, I know Garcia is dying for you to talk to her. Or Hotch. Or we can find someone, but Reid wouldn’t have wanted this.”

She didn’t know what Reid wanted. She didn’t know anything. She didn’t care.

She had let him leave.

She had let him walk out of his apartment into the hands of some unstable stalker. He could see it in his mind, saw it all playing out every time he closed his eyes. Reid stepping away from the table, and, in Derek’s mind, walking slowly but surely out of the room. 

Like a lamb to the slaughter.

Except the lamb doesn’t know there’s a grisly fate awaiting them. Reid did. He would have been scared, and Derek can see his hands shake while he steadies his step, he probably started running down the stairs. To save time, and to make sure he was moving too fast to stop.

He would have been terrified, and she let him leave anyways.

Suddenly, the anger that had been bubbling up inside him surged forward all at once, breaking through the dam he had constructed to keep it back. Suddenly, he hated her.

“I think you should leave.” He said tightly.

She moved towards him, and for a terrible moment he thought she might reach out, that she, who had let Reid go, would actually touch him and he stepped back sharply. She didn’t follow him, but she didn’t leave either.

“You want me to speak to JJ? You really want to hear what I have to say to her? How about some guidelines on how not to pick up mysterious packages left by dangerous individuals? Some basic rules about keeping the person you’re supposed to be protecting safe instead of pushing them into danger?”

“That’s not fair.” Prentiss backed off now, arms folding defensively, but Derek doesn’t stop. He can’t.

“Not fair? You come in here, after you let him walk into the arms of a crazed stalker to tell me that I’m not being fair?” Derek doesn’t yell. His voice is low, but every word is hissed, a full ton of force behind it.

“Morgan, listen, I—”

“No. I’m done listening to you.” Derek steps forward, and Prentiss flinches as he moves past her and opens the door.

“How fair is it that he’s gone?” He asks, and he can see as each of his words hit home by the expression on her face. “You were supposed to protect him. You were supposed to keep him safe, and you let him go. How _fair_ is that?”

He sees her struggling to find an answer, a defense perhaps, or a plea.

“Just go.” He tells her before she can try to come up with a useless reply. “I think you’ve done enough. Go find someone else to absolve Jareau’s guilt.”

She just nods at that, turning to leave without another word. He doesn’t follow after her but waits until he can hear the door to the apartment shut before turning to survey the room.  
He needs to make the bed again. At this point maybe he should just change the sheets. He sighs, falling back onto the bed himself. It was already all messed up. He could sit down for just a little.

It seems that Prentiss had taken his anger with her when she left. There’s nothing left anymore. Just Derek, all alone in Reid’s apartment, the emptiness so tangible it hurts. He can feel it, a pit in his chest.

Derek hadn’t known how heavy emptiness could feel.

He stares up at the ceiling, feeling the energy that had been coiled tight within him fade away. Reid would have something to say now, something stupidly intelligent that would lead them to the next clue, or at the least make him feel better.

But Spencer wasn’t here.

Derek shut his eyes, just for a moment. He was so tired now, exhaustion taking place of the anger that had been keeping him upright. He could close his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them again there was someone else there. Not in the room with him, but he could hear them outside, in Reid’s home. Someone was there, and…cooking?

The scent of roasted vegetables was wafting through the air, combining with some other scents he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He reached for his gun, holding it carefully as he opened the bedroom door and realized whoever it was was in the kitchen. He moved quickly and quietly until he moved into the doorway, gun up.

“It’s me!” Garcia jumped back, hands flying up from the takeout bag she’d put on the table. “Please put down the gun, it’s just me.”

“I’m sorry.” He put his gun down, moving into the room. “What are you doing here?”

“Prentiss told me I could find you here.” She said simply.

“Prentiss should mind her own business.” Derek muttered, but he holstered his gun, sinking down into a kitchen chair.

Garcia ignored him, pulling out a carton of takeout along with the necessary plastic cutlery and passing it over to him.

“What do you think of the earrings?” she said, and Derek looked up at her in surprise.

_“What?”_

“My earrings. I ordered them ages ago, and they just came. What do you think?” she flicked one lightly, a small group of dangling beads jangling together.

“I’m not really in the mood for this, Garcia.” He folded his arms, waiting for her to get to the point.

“I know you’re not. You haven’t been in the mood for anything, not talking, not taking care of yourself, nothing. And it’s hurting you and everyone around you. So, before we continue with all this, you are going to sit there and eat your food. And we’re going to have a normal conversation about something that doesn’t really matter, and you are going to tell me what you think about these earrings.”

She stared at him defiantly, and he recognized that look. The look of Penelope Garcia putting her foot down.

“They’re cute?” he offered up half-heartedly, and she grabbed it.

“They are, aren’t they?!” she jangled them again. “I think they might join the rack of the favored.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, curious despite himself.

“A rack of all my favorite earrings. And I’m always looking for new ones.” She said s with a pointed look at him. “Just in case a certain supervisory special agent wanted to buy me a gift.”

“I’m buying you gifts now?” he poked at his food as she sat down opposite him and picked at some of her own.

“Oh, are you?” she said with a slight grin. “Why thank you, Agent Morgan.”

He smiled despite himself, a tiny fraction of his tension seeping out as he watched her.

“Gotta take care of my babygirl,” he answered. “Especially when she’s the one taking care of me right now.”

“I do my best.” She sighed. “It can be hard, raising a chocolate god, but I try.”

They chattered inanely. It felt wrong at times, talking like this when they should be working. But Garcia was right; he wasn’t useful right now. And she was getting him to a place where he could see that, and maybe to one where he can be.

It wasn't until he started eating that he realized how hungry he’d been, and it wasn’t until she almost got him to laugh, just a little chuckle, that he realized just how much he needed her. Still, the whole time he was painfully aware of the situation, of who was missing from this picture.

He couldn’t help wondering if he’d just made more of an effort to reach out to Reid, if maybe he’d have known sooner. If they’d have grown closer, if he could have prevented this. If he would’ve grown comfortable enough to have them over here and they could all be here talking about stupid things after taking care of the threat.

It’s like Garcia can read Derek’s mind when a long lull in conversation falls over the two of them.

“I know.” She said after a moment. “But I also know we’re going to find him. The team is going to find him.”

Derek looked up at her, resolute in her faith in the team, and his deepest ugliest fear can’t help but be spoken.

“What if we don’t?” he asked quietly.

And just like that, every wall he’d built up to keep himself numb seemed to collapse in on him, crushing him under the weight.

“Prentiss, she was talking about him like—like we weren’t going to find him. Like it’s too late.”  
He met Garcia’s gaze with panicked eyes. “What if I’m too late?”

“I don’t believe that.” She shakes her head vehemently as though she could stop it from being true. “We’re going to find him, Morgan. We will.”

“There’s been no ransom. No more notices after he was taken. We both know what the numbers are here and they’re not good.” He answered quietly.

“Let’s leave the numbers to Reid. When we get him back, I’m sure he’ll have something to say about it.” She said.

“I should have checked in with him more,” Derek started before she cut him off.

“Hey, stop that. No!” she told him firmly. “This is not your fault. This is not anyone’s fault except that despicable creep who took him. It’s his fault and we’re going to find him and get our genius back, okay?”

She looked at him fiercely, folding her arms when he didn't respond.

“Okay?” she repeated, more a demand then a question.

“Okay.” He agreed, allowing himself to breathe. “Okay. Thank you for coming, babygirl.” He added softly.

“Anytime, chocolate thunder.” She gave him a small smile but there was something else she wasn’t saying, a note in her expression, in the way she couldn’t quite meet his gaze, even the tense way she was still holding herself.

“What is it?”

It took her a moment before she responded.

“Diana called again. She’s asking to speak to you now. The, uh well, the doctors think it might be better for her to hear it from you. Apparently, she trusts you.”

“Why?” his throat felt tight suddenly, the food he ate heavy in his stomach. “Why me? Didn’t Hotch speak to her?”

“He did.” She confirmed. “But, well. Reid speaks about you a lot. And she’s suspicious of any authority figures in the FBI but whatever Reid has said about you, she trusts you.”

Reid trusted him. And Derek had let him down. Any sense of calm that had been restored seemed to dissipate at that, the thought of how hard he’d let his friend down.

“Morgan?” Garcia asked after a moment, bringing him back.

“Right, sorry.” He nods. “I’ll speak with her.”

“We think she’ll call again today; she’s been calling at the same time. Will you come in?”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to run away, he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Of course, I will.”

Garcia had set up a video call. Of course she had. Derek tried to relax his posture, all too aware of how tense he was, wanting to appear non-threatening and reassuring.

It seemed like ages before her face appeared on the screen, her arms folded, an imposing figure even a country away.

“Derek Morgan.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods. “I was told you’d been calling.”

“Who else is there?” she asks sharply, moving as though she could see around the room if she just got the right angle.

“It’s just me in here.” Derek answers. They’d thought it’d be best. When she didn’t look convinced, he shifted the camera, allowing her to see the empty room she recognized from her own visit there.

“They took my boy.” She says after a moment, and the composed ramrod straight woman on the screen shifted, her shoulders falling, a thin hand coming up to her face for a moment before hovering as though she didn’t quite know where to place it. “They took my Spencer and they won’t tell me where he is.”

“Right now, we don’t know where he is.” He says and the words are bitter on his tongue. “We’re doing our very best to find him, I promise.”

The promise sits heavy in his chest. Their very best hadn’t been good enough yet. Not to find him, not to protect him.

“They took him.” She repeats desperately. “He shouldn’t have trusted them, I knew he should never have worked for the government, I told him.”

Derek wanted to shut down the call right then and there, to get out and _do something_ to help. He wanted to push back his chair so hard it fell over, leave the room and just keep walking, anything not to answer the desperate mother before him, to explain that they had no answers, that maybe she was right and he shouldn’t have trusted them to protect him.

“There’s no evidence that points to government involvement.” He said instead. “And we’re all doing our best to get him back.”

“No, they’re not.” She insisted. Derek could see something of Reid in his mother, the obstinate set of her mouth as she protested, the way she moved to accentuate her points. “You can’t trust them. You need to find him. Not them, they’re not trying, they work for the government.”

“So do I.” Derek reminded her softly. “And I can guarantee that we—”

“You are not like them!” she cut him off sharply. “Spencer doesn’t write about them, or care about them as he does you. He doesn’t trust them like he trusts you. Spencer—”

She stopped suddenly, choosing her words with care.

“He _trusts_ you. And I need you to promise me that you will find him. Not the government, not the team, you.”

That was what it came down to, Derek’s own thoughts spoken aloud. This was his responsibility. He needed to find him.

“I’m going to keep looking.” He promised her. “I’m not going to stop working on this until I bring him home.”

“You’d better.” She nodded. “Or I will come down there myself and make it happen.”

“I understand.” He said, trying to convince her, to find an out of this god awful conversation.  
“You need to. He trusts you.” She said firmly before the screen went blank. For a moment, Derek panicked, thinking the connection had gone down, before he realized that she left. She’d said all she had to say.

Reid trusted him most. 

The words hit him as he sat back and processed them. They were close, but if asked the question Derek would have assumed it’d be Hotch or maybe JJ who would top the list. But Reid had written about him.

And Derek had promised to bring him home.

He allowed himself another moment before he forced himself up and out of the office, striding towards the round table room, where they had all the evidence set up. There were always people there now, and Derek’s gaze slid right over Prentiss, settling on Garcia who was putting up a picture of someone Derek didn’t recognize.

She turned around, almost dropping the picture, asking in a soft voice

“How’d the call go?”

“Fine.” He answered shortly. “She already knew the details from when she’d first been notified, she just wanted some reassurance. Who’s that?”

“Charles Gwaine.” Prentiss speaks up and Derek forces himself to turn and look her in the eye. Later he can process all that happened, they can talk it out. Now they need to help Reid.

“He’s one of Reid’s neighbors, right? We didn’t get to interview him?” he asks.

“He was away.” Prentiss nods. “But he’s back now and we think he may have seen our suspect.”  
“What?” Derek’s voice is dangerously rough. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“We just found out.” Garcia answers. “He’s being brought in now.”

“I need to speak to him.” He says immediately.

“I’m not sure that’s—” Prentiss began before he turned on her swiftly.

“If he has information about Reid, I need to speak to him,” he repeated firmly.

Prentiss looked like she was about to object, but before she could, the door swung open again.  
“You can join JJ, then,” Hotch told him with a quick appraising look. “You’ll follow her lead.”

Derek frowned but nodded, taking the win where he could.

Hotch filled him in on the way.

“Gwaine was away for a week, visiting family. His alibi checks out, and until he returned, he had no idea Reid was missing. He called the police, said something about someone claiming to be Reid’s brother asking him for a spare key to his apartment.”

“And this guy let him in?” Derek asked heatedly and Hotch stopped in his tracks turning to face him.

“Morgan, if I’m going to bring you in to question him, I need to know you can be calm about this.”

“I’m fine.” He could hear it, how quickly his words were forced out, and the arch in Hotch’s eyebrow told him he could too. He forced himself to take a breath, relaxing his tense stance.

“He did show him in. But in Gwaine’s defense, he had no reason to disbelieve him.”

“To disbelieve a stranger who claimed to need access to someone else’s apartment?”

“A stranger with an ID” Hotch answered smoothly. “Listen to me, this man is most likely not our unsub. He is in here to help us, and I can’t have you bursting in and yelling at him. Do you understand me?”

Derek nodded, but Hotch didn’t keep walking.

“One more thing. I know you’re angry with JJ right now. But she will be leading this interrogation.” He looked like he was already reconsidering his decision to let Derek in on it and he rushed to reassure his superior.

“I know. I’ll be fine, I’m not going to let anything get in the way of this investigation. You know that.” Derek would partner with anyone if it would help Reid, would do anything.

Hotch nodded before walking him the rest of the way in silence.

JJ was waiting for them outside the door, and gave them a tentative thin smile when they approached. Derek ignored her, turning to Hotch.

“I’ll be watching in there with Rossi.” Hotch answered his unspoken question before stepping into the observation room, leaving Derek alone in the hallway with JJ.

“Morgan, I… we…” she started and Derek just looked back at her. She seemed at a loss for words, as though she hadn’t expected him to let her speak, to listen to her. After a moment he spoke.

“Let’s not keep him waiting.”

She nodded, straightening herself out before walking inside. The transformation was truly impressive. When she sat down at the metal table all uncertainty was gone, the picture of a compassionate professional as she smiled at the man across the table. Derek joined her, sizing the man up. He seemed nervous, shifting in his seat, a natural response to the environment.

“Mr. Gwaine, right?” JJ opened up. “I’m Agent Jenifer Jareau, and this is Agent Derek Morgan. You said you had some information about our missing colleague, Dr. Reid?”

“Well, I, uh, I already told the cops about the guy, I thought he was honest.” Gwaine answered with wide eyes. “I would never have let him in if he hadn’t shown me the ID and the pictures, I swear, I’d never do anything to hurt Dr. Reid, he was always so nice.”

“We know you wouldn’t.” JJ answered gently. “We just need you to tell us again, everything you told to the cops about this man. From the beginning please.”

Gwaine nodded, taking a moment to collect himself. He seemed genuinely distressed, but Derek couldn’t find any pity within himself. This man endangered Reid.

“He came a few weeks ago. He, uh, he looked like Dr. Reid, and he knocked on my door about midafternoon? He told me he was Dr. Reid’s brother, Harry, said he arrived earlier than expected, and his brother, uh, Dr. Reid, wasn’t answering his phone, that he couldn’t at work. I do some repairs in the building and I keep a spare key for most of the apartments. Though I have to say that Dr. Reid never came to me for it. Never lost his key I guess, he told me he’s got one of those memories, photographic or didactic or something—”

“Eidetic.” Derek heard himself saying. JJ shot him a sharp look but Gwaine didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah, that’s it. So, uh, I had his key. And this guy, he shows me his license, says he’s a Harold Reid.” Gwaine paused. “It looked so real. I never would have thought it was fake.”  
“I’m sure it did.” JJ responded. “Can you tell us anything else about the license? Any other information it had? Even if it was fake it might help us.”

“It was a Nevada one.” He said after a moment. “I remembered Dr. Reid told me he was from there, Vegas, I think. Harry, uh, this guy, he asked if I could let him in. I was still a little nervous but he showed me some pictures on his phone, of the last time Dr. Reid went home to visit, the two of them together. He was about to leave but I decided, oh god, I let him in. I didn’t realize, they told me when I called Dr. Reid doesn’t have any brothers but I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault.” JJ said softly. “You had no reason not to believe him.”

Derek glanced over at her, wondering if she really believed herself. If she thought he wasn’t at fault, if she placed the blame elsewhere. Did she blame herself, she who didn’t pick up the phone, who did pick up the bomb? Or did she blame Derek, who had promised to protect Reid, who should’ve done more, should’ve helped him.

Some part of him knew that was ridiculous, that JJ had no reason to blame him, but it was overruled.

“What did he do after you let him in the apartment?” Derek asked.

“I don’t know. He laughed when he opened the door, said it was just like his brother to have the apartment in that state and thanked me. I went home. I didn’t know. I didn’t see him leave. I meant to call Dr. Reid later, ask for the key back, but I went out that night with some friends and we got, uh, I forgot about it.” He dropped his gaze, staring down at the table.

He had laughed. This man had gotten into Reid’s apartment, violated his space, and he’d laughed. 

Derek tensed up as something Gwaine said got through to him.

“You let him keep the key?”

“I wasn’t going to.” He answered. “But I just, I couldn’t get it to turn for some reason and this guy, he offered to try so I let him and when he got it, he just slipped the key into his pocket. I don’t know, I should’ve asked for it back, I’m sorry.”

“What else can you tell us about him?” JJ cut in smoothly. “You said he looked like Dr. Reid?”

Gwaine nodded.

“Really like him. That’s why I thought he was telling the truth. Shorter hair but same kind of brown curls. Tall but skinny.”

“Would you be able to describe him to a sketch artist?” JJ asked.

“I think so? It was a few weeks ago. But if it’ll help. I don’t know what else to say about him. He was soft spoken, but didn’t speak like Dr. Reid, you know, not like a doctor or anything.”

“Thank you.” JJ said. “We’ll have you speak to the artist. And here,” she pulled out a card, “if you have any more information, or if you remember anything at all, give me a call.”

“Okay.” Gwaine nodded. “I will.”

“Thank you.” Derek echoed, before he and JJ got up and left the room.

JJ split off to get a sketch artist while Derek joined Hotch and Rossi as they walked back to the evidence room.

“I believed him.” Rossi said after a minute. “He was genuinely upset. Whoever this man is he’s convincing. Appears non-threatening too.”

“He said he looked like Reid.” Hotch didn’t have to finish the sentence. Reid’s greatest strength had always been his mind. Derek had tried to teach him self-defense, (should have taught him more) and he always just barely made the qualifications.

“Didn’t speak like an academic, but he could have masked his speech patterns.” Rossi responded.

“We’ll need to go through the security cameras of that day.” Derek said. “See if we can see him on them.”

“I’ll get Garcia on it.” Hotch said as they got back. “We’ll find him.”

Derek nodded; his throat suddenly too thick to respond. Rossi gave him a piercing glance as they walked into the room.

“I know.” Derek managed to respond by way of reassurance. “We’ll find him.”

They had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know your thoughts!! i appreciate all your kudos and comments so so much


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